Status: Here or not, the love remains

I want to take some time to thank you all for walking with me. Some of you are silently in step, perhaps at times nodding in solidarity as you read.  Others are carrying on the conversation with me through your private emails, blog comments, or in other exchanges when our paths cross. 

Your support and interest is appreciated, affirming, and helpful. In some cases, it has also been enlightening. Thank you. I hope you will continue the journey with me. There is something comforting in the fact that others are paying attention to this discussion. Together, we are on to something.

Through Walking Distance, I am getting great suggestions from others who are watching my dissertation struggle. One thing I have mentioned are many of my observations of Facebook posts which suggest that we have a fascination or, at minimum, a healthy interest in death. 

Several weeks ago, I talked about the extraordinary surge of internet grief postings over the death of popular UMass band leader and music professor George N. Parks. A memorial wall for Parks on Facebook sparked a virtual explosion of comments from former students and others who reached out to the social network site to share their collective grief with others who obviously understood it, and anyone who may not have had the direct occasion to experience it.

Parks, 57, died September 16, and almost immediately as word spread of his passing, the public response to his death exploded on Facebook. Today, the page shows 11,666 fans connected to him and a living “wall” of memories that include video clips of the halftime event at the UMass football game on October 16 when the school held a memorial service for this legendary, award winning band leader. Other touching clips can be found on his Facebook page as well, including a link to personal tributes to him that are posted on YouTube. 

On a human level, it is awe inspiring. For my research interest, it also is fascinating. The publicly outward expressions being shared through social media seem to suggest a recognition of the value of this shared grief experience. Why else would someone take the time to post these events? 

“An inspiration,” “my hero,” “my mentor, teacher, friend.” These are such deeply sincere sentiments posted for anyone who wanders along to read them. Names attached, hearts on sleeves. George N. Parks was one life that touched many, but also was one example of the capacity each of us has to live on through those we love, inspire, and whose lives we touch. 

This interest in death is not new. It appears, however, that the practice of sharing our grief in what might be considered impersonal venues is really a new phenomenon. The World Wide Web as we know it has been around for more than 30 years, but Facebook and YouTube are in their toddler years by comparison. This sharing is different from anything we’ve ever done before, particularly when it comes to the grief experience.

We need to say these things, we need others to hear them, and short of having someone in person to directly hear them, many of us are issuing our personal memories wrapped in grief to a potentially global audience.

How on earth did we get here? Ah, interesting choice of words. I think there is something universal at work here, and my evidence today suggests this need to share is the part that has remained constant.

I recently read Geoffrey Gorer’s book, Death, grief, and mourning in contemporary Britain (London: The Cresset Press). The book was written in 1965, so the “contemporary” timeframe is long past and thus, Gorer’s findings outdated, one might presume. Nonetheless, Gorer did a quantitative study that is still worth inspection. He interviewed people about their experiences with death and mourning. 

Gorer concluded that the most reliable sign that a mourner is dealing adequately with his grief is when he or she gratefully accepts the spoken condolences of others. 

This seems to be in line with today’s grief postings in social media, or at least, it might be interpreted as such. If Gorer was right, some of us are showing the signs of healing from grief if we are expressing it in a public manner that allows for the gracious acceptance of the expressed sympathies of others. Considering some of the postings I’ve seen on social media sites, this exchange is taking place. 

Another point Gorer illuminated struck a chord with me, as it is a remark I have heard all too often in various situations. Gorer asked his survey participants about the belief that “time heals.” It is reassuring to hear that folks from the 1960s in England had the same feeling on the topic as the people I interact with today. Half of the people he surveyed rejected the notion, and so do I. When it comes to grief, what constitutes “healing”? 

Is it when you are able to get through a day without crying over the loss? Is it when you stop thinking of the person on a daily basis? Is it when you return to a “normal” routine? What is the evidence of healing when the scars are embedded in the soul?

I like the way Gorer rationalized their assessments. While many had used the phrase, “never get over it,” Gorer saw deeper into their responses. They had healed from their intense grief, but what the respondents meant was, they held an ongoing affection for their lost loved one.

George Parks’ memorial wall on Facebook sure looks like that to me.


Copyright 2010 by Marianne V. Heffernan