You Push and I Pelt

Learning From How The Flowers Felt

When Do Megabytes The Dust? An Update to A 2012 Hub Page Post

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Grave Markers For The New Millennium

When our virtual persona outlive us what is the right thing to do with them? Should Facebook pages of the deceased become their grave markers? Will Facebook be haunted with virtual ghosts? Or, should our pages RIP with our other belongings?

We caution children about the content they post, explaining it can take on a life of its own. When we issue these warnings do we consider our own mortality? If asked, most of us would say that what we share online is a reflection of us-the lives we live outside of the virtual realm. Though we would be wise always to operate under the belief that nothing sent, published, tagged or posted will ever be a secret again, as humans, we likely do not always follow such a conservative protocol. It is difficult to always keep the fact that potential employers, love interests, neighbors, friends and enemies, will peek at our virtual selves and judge us on what they see. Although we want our online persona to show our best selves (for the most part) it is beyond our ability to consistently maintain awareness that everything we do online becomes a part of the public domain forever.

Now that Baby Boomers and GenXers have entered the second half of their lives, there are more stories about posthumous Facebook pages because we are finding that online personas have a power and life of their own.

Messages From Beyond

On a blustery Saturday in the winter of 2012, I received a message from my Facebook “friend.” I didn’t know she had died seven days earlier. I clicked on the little quote, but instead of a Happy Holidays wish, it was her sister, also a friend of mine and old college roommate, who was writing to me. Her message was a personal obituary for which I wished I had been warned. A flashing red message box might have prepared me. Pancreatic cancer had claimed her sister, and my Facebook friend. Formal services were held earlier that week.

“I thought you should know,” the message read. “I was going through her things, and saw you played Gardens of Time, but not until after the funeral.”

It was true – we played a few Facebook games together. She and I had reacquainted after more than 20 years apart. I gushed about Facebook reuniting people like us. Her house at the end of Main Street in my artsy, eclectic hometown was the center of all action back in the wild 80s of my youth. As a teen, I baby sat her children. I hung out at her pool nearly every summer day day between 1985 and 1988. She was elected as our driver when we saw Pink Floyd’s Momentary Lapse of Reason concert at the Vet in Philly. After graduation, I went to college, and from there started my adult life. I forgot about high school, my hometown and my friends from there for a while.

In 2012, I asked her “Would we have ever met up again without Facebook?” She said no. We shared brief messages like this before trading requests for items in the games we loved to play. “Please send me a present, so I can build my fountain?” I clicked and sent a request to her about four times a week. One or two days later, the gift was delivered to my inbox. This back and forth went on for a year, during which time she never mentioned the chemotherapy, radiation, nausea, sleepless nights, losing her hair, and the suffering she endured.

On June 26 2014, the news of another friend’s untimely demise shook me. I found out through a cryptic post on Facebook.

“Goodbye Marquis!” It read.

“Huh? Couldn’t be.” I thought as I punched out a rushed comment on my phone, hoping to quickly dismiss my suspicions.

“Sounds weird.” I wrote. “Did the Marquis finally go native to that giant Congo in the sky? Message me privately.” I referred to things only friends and readers of his would know. He had visited Africa and written a book about it, entitled “Going Native.” My high school friend’s message back was quick. It confirmed my worst fears.

“He died. Sad to say he hanged himself. I guess he always was the master of his own destiny, so in a crazy way, it makes sense. Hope you’re well.”

I wasn’t well though. I felt sick. He was only 55 and I hadn’t spoken to him or seen him in years. We weren’t even friends on Facebook, yet I felt as if I had lost someone really close. I felt guilty about not being there for him, strangely enough. He was one of those staples that towns like ours come to rely upon. He defined what was cool about us. He was well educated, irreverent by accident mostly, I think, and a living dichotomy. He was a writer, a junk man, a mower of lawns, a connoisseur of French cooking and wine and a country man who loved antiques, but who had lost everything he loved in this horrible economy.

“Damn. That’s really bad news.” I messaged back.

“Shitty eh? Sorry to have to tell you the hows of it all.”

The messages ended.

When Should Megabytes The Dust?

In 2012, I called a friend for advice.

“What are your thoughts about death and Facebook?” I asked him.

He told me about one of his friends who had died a year ago. “On his birthday and anniversary, this whole social circle pays homage on a Facebook page. They post that they miss him, and they share memories…maybe leave virtual flowers,” he described.

What do you do?” I asked.

“It’s all too strange for me. I don’t go,” he answered. “Too macabre!”

I contemplated Facebook pages as virtual shadows. I turned to my friends the poets for guidance. Has the digital age silenced death’s finality? Will social media give us more comfort as we grieve?

In Macbeth, Shakespeare wrote:

Out, out, brief candle!
 Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
 And then is heard no more. It is a tale
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
 Signifying nothing. — Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17-28)

Robert Frost’s last line in”Out Out,” which is inspired by Shakespeare’s Macbeth, reads:

"And they, since they were not the one’s dead, turned to their affairs."

Will it be our friends and kin or the courts who will turn to our affairs once we are dead.  Who will decide for how long our sound, fury and megabytes shall live on Facebook?

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Author: Julia

I am a writer, storyteller, dreamer and avid researcher. If Monet had painted me as a child, an oil painting of a young girl writing poetry upon a three foot boulder in the woods would be hanging in the Philadelphia Art museum. I am passionate about my ideals. I love new and abstract concepts, taking the path less traveled, reading classic literature, poetry and music and talking about them with friends. Nature inspires me and I respect it. When a spider creeps into my bathtub, I set it free because killing it shakes the universe. For an introvert, I live an adventurous life always trying to be the person my son will admire.

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