After a fun 2 1/2 hour geek-out with friends (on a podcast called Consumption), I was bebopping through Facebook and Twitter feeds, to check in on our kids and nacho kids (as in, loving some kids so much that you have to constantly remind yourself that they are not your kids) and friends. Like you do.
And then I see something that leads to something else that leads to … that moment of sadness for someone gone before Facebook became commonplace. Maybe you’ve experienced this, too?
Or maybe I am crazy, getting too immersed in a world with avatars and pseudonyms (looking at myself, here) and thinking, “How is it possible that this woman I sometimes think of 5 times a day after more than 7 years of her absence, does not have a Page with Likes and Photos and history quickly and fully fleshed out in a matter of moments?!?”
We that are left behind have to sift through old, depressing photo albums that are filled with deceased friends and ancestors to try and figure out names and dates and places. I’ve seen thousands of photos this year, and only about half have I ever seen before, or am I able to identify who the hell they are. Mostly, my dad’s family, so they’re going in a box for him to decide what to scan or toss, or both.
So when I was really blue and really missing my Mom (she’d have known EXACTLY what to do during this financial crisis, aka Government Shutdown/Furlough), I added a FB life event, where I can post pictures and have a place that’s easier to get to then National Cemetary.
Later I saw that it created the entry on my page, which means my sister and brother and sons and nieces and nephews saw it. I broke into their day with her beautiful image on a deceased life entry. Thanks, Facebook. Now I feel like a douchebag. No complaints from anyone, but still.
Miss your wisdom, Pocket Mom. Even when you were wrong, you were so right.
Fuck you, cancer. FUCK YOU.