RIP, on Facebook

One of my friends from back home died last November in a car crash. I don't say this as an opening to a grief-stricken column about moving on, dealing with grief, or any of that hogwash; rather, I use my experiences as groundwork to discuss a new development that I've come across in the months since her death.

My friend was one of those people who got a MySpace account during the time when not many people had one. Thus her list of "friends" was enormous, her "wall" of comments was nearly to infinity (and beyond), and she had one of those oddly designed, html-warped profile-pages that gave you a headache after two minutes of trying to read any of the text. It's not fair to say that it was her pride and joy, but it was certainly an important part of her pride and joy.

She was slow to move to Facebook, so when I went left California for Boston I kept my MySpace account mostly for the purposes of keeping in touch with her, and people like her, that preferred it to the 'Book. It was an easy way to stay in contact. We talked on the phone, of course, and even the occasional snail mail was exchanged, but on the pages of the Space we remained, surprisingly, closest.

Move ahead in time, to last November. Said accident occurred, and said result resulted. Then the comments started flooding in. On her MySpace and Facebook profile pages, the comments began with the distressed messages of sadness and despair. Some were clichéd right out of a Six Feet Under brochure, but for the most part they seemed heartfelt. For the first while they were mostly the result of grief, but as the weeks progressed, they were more about quiet sadness, and about memory. They were touching, meaningful, at times redundant, but obviously came from the right place … right?

Call me heartless, call me cold, say I'm without consideration - but I felt really weird about this persistent commenting. Sharing memories of the dearly departed is dandy, and they do it all the time at gatherings, or at bleak parties in the drunken after hours. But only on Facebook can I log on to my departed friend's page and write, "Remember that one time, u r crazy, lol!" Death and "lol:" that's a truly sad combination.

Not that the memories people shared were that "junior high" in vocabulary or manner. Many of them were thoughtful ones, some of which I also shared, others that I wish I did. But after three months of people commenting whenever they remembered something that once happened with her, or something that reminded them of her …

These online networking sites are designed as public places to do just that - network and socialize. I wasn't aware that they were designed to facilitate this type of public mourning. The more I thought about it, the more I expected to hear the Twilight Zone theme and responses from my friend to appear on other peoples' walls. Surely some people share their usernames and passwords with various individuals, and what would happen if someone knew my friend's information? It could easily be someone's idea of a sick and twisted joke, or an episode of The X-Files (if it was still on).

In retrospect I suppose it's not that bad of idea. Her Myspace and Facebook accounts became a cyber community for mourners, and regardless of geographical location, everyone could somehow relate. Facebook became her gathering place of flower bouquets cards, with people writing their condolences, or what they wish they could say to her once more. But whereas a funeral or memorial is only temporary, her Facebook wall will remain there for who knows how long. Their comments are catalogued in the cyberverse, for any and all to see as they scroll down the page of someone who is no longer counted among the "active accounts."

Will her page ever be deactivated? I don't know how those things work in the Facebook world. Mark Zuckerberg probably knows. But everyone has their own way of grieving - if constant comments on a recently deceased friend's profile page is one way of dealing with grief, then more power to them - it just seems, well, weird.

I always knew there was life after love (thanks Cher), but I didn't know there was Facebook after life, too.