A few years ago, I wouldn't have believed how much of my life revolves around being online. I indeed wouldn't have thought I could care so much for someone I've only related to through a profile picture—someone who started out just as a Friend of a Friend. But here I am, quietly grieving the loss of someone special. I'll call her PG for the sake of her grieving family.
But behind that profile was someone who was sick—very sick. She first alluded to it in some private messages. Doctor's appointments became clinic visits. The 10 o'clock appointment morphed into an all-day treatment session. Fuzzy thinking was later revealed to be the chemotherapy side effects. All comments were unassuming and not at all resentful or angry—just a matter of fact. "Here's what's happening with me today. What's new with you, Kelly?"
We said that we were going to plan to get together. I would try to meet her at the cancer clinic for coffee. I wanted to, but that pesky day job got in. Now, I wish I had taken a day off. It would have been nice to hold the memory of meeting one-on-one and sharing the same space in time. At the time, it felt odd that someone I didn't know wanted to share this part of her life with me. I always think of illness as a family matter, not an occasion to bring new people into your life. I was wrong.
She told me how much she relied on my silly status updates and loved the photos I was taking. She also loved the humour and grace of the friends who share my Facebook life (as do I). She found in me someone who would provide respite from her daily grind of treatment. Someone willing to be silly and open to exploring everyday life's quirks. She also found someone she could reach out to encourage when times were tough. I'm honoured to have been a part of that. I hope she knows. I think she does.
So today, when her face popped up in the Suggestions section of my profile, I wanted to check-in. One-click, and then I found out. She must have passed on today. All the comments read "one hour ago," and many ended with "Rest in Peace." My last Wall posting was there, unreplied to, from March 23. So I said my farewell on her wall. It was the last bit of communication, but I hope her family can see how many people's lives she touched.
So farewell, my online Friend. This silly technology taught me much about reaching out, and your quiet struggle showed me real connections. Rest in peace PG.
We must have met once through career contacts, but I must remember. It's funny that you don't always know who remembers you in the world, but I accepted her Friend request on Facebook. The face looking at me was sweet—and so was she.
Over the months, PG commented on my silly status updates and nature photos. She posted wonderfully encouraging comments when I indicated that life wasn't going quite as planned. Her presence was like a long-lost friend who provided comfort and support in a way that touched my soul. I was amazed by her caring.
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