I’ve certainly heard of Legacy.com and encountered it when reading obituaries of people I’ve known who died, but I’d never actually participated… until today.
Mary was a friend from childhood. She was actually the oldest of three sisters I grew up with in my hometown of Cleveland. The youngest sister, Tricia, is my age and the one with whom I shared one of my deepest friendships growing up. Mary was an integral part of it. We all spent a lot of time together and had so much fun. It had been a long time since I talked to Tricia, and an even longer time since I had talked to Mary. But when I’d heard that Mary died the day after Christmas, I was floored. Speechless. And – as I replayed in my head the fun we had together those years ago – heartbroken.
I made the drive to Cleveland the other day for the funeral. It was the first time I’d seen Tricia, her mom and her sister Kathy in years. It was an overwhelmingly sad day, and yet amazing to reconnect with my old friend and show up for her and her family the way we know how. [Both our fathers died within 2 years of one another when we were in our teens. We held one another very close through all of it.]
Though I had the opportunity to show up for the funeral and the family in person, Mary’s guestbook on Legacy.com stared me in the face. There were pages and pages of lovely notes from mutual friends from Cleveland’s west side whose names I hadn’t heard in years. Most of the entries were from out-of-towners unable to attend the funeral. All of the comments were warm, heartfelt and appropriate. Some brief, and some longer. Mary’s death and the absence of their wonderful friendship in my life over the past 10 or so years left my heart racing with so many thoughts and emotions. Even though I was present for the funeral, I felt like writing something on the guestbook. But what? There was the question of whether or not I wanted to share some of these feelings so semi-publicly. Personally, the idea of this kind of overt sharing is a somewhat odd prospect, but as an internet professional, I fully appreciate its usefulness in paying respectful respect to someone who has died and expressing one’s sorrow for the loved ones left to grieve. [And Tricia had told me the evening after the funeral that they had been reading all the entries as they were posted and how nice it felt to read the sentiments from people sharing their grief.]
I had absolutely no interest in writing any emotional pornography (not to be confused with full tube pornography) or anything impersonal like “sorry for your loss.” I wanted to craft a loving, personal, and real heartfelt note to my friend Tricia, her sister Kathy and her mom (whom I adored) about how Mary impacted my life and how much I adored her. How would I take the plunge and open up my feelings online?
I just did it. I think it went well. I opened up and shared what I was feeling, just not everything I was feeling. The key: restraint. (And a little humor, too, because Mary was – among many things – hilarious.) I drafted it in my word processor, carefully re-read it several times, made revisions, and posted my final draft. The end result was honest and real – something with which I was comfortable sharing with anyone who cared to read it. But ultimately I did it for Tricia, for Kathy, for her mom and, most of all, for Mary. My heart is still heavy with sadness as I write this blog entry, but the action of sharing these feelings in a somewhat open online forum felt good.
And there is my story about my first experience with an online memorial guestbook.
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