Life, Death, and Facebook
In the last few days, Facebook has told me of the death of a child, and the birth of another.
It told me lots of other things too, but these I remember.
I never met my cousin Anna. Cousin is the most general term - the child of my father's cousin's son probably would get some degrees or removed. But she was part of the extended family, and through Facebook I saw her in Halloween costumes, and family vacations. Last week I saw her picture from her first day of kindergarten.
Then this week, I saw the news that she'd been hit by a car. The news story from Ann Arbor was pinging around, describing an unnamed girl who was hit by a driver. She'd been walking home with her family from a Rosh Hashana party.
I checked in constantly, both on Facebook and on a tumblr for UpdatesonAnna. I read as she took a turn for the worse that night, and offered up what few prayers I know to her recovery.
But then the next post, and the last - there was nothing to be done. Her soul was gone, her body alive, in the hope that her organs could save other children.
A death of a child is always tragic. But this was family. This was REAL.
As I scanned for news of Anna, it was crowded amongst so many other bits and pieces - a funny video, news from Syria, pictures from a half-dozen weddings, a pet or two, updates from shows or magazines or bands. All jumbled together. Each fighting for attention.
I've heard plenty about how Facebook is changing the way we interact. Most people decry it as a loss - a superficial gloss on who we are. I tend not to agree.
It may be an imperfect platform, but these tiny glimpses into each other's lives, from the profound to the mundane, are an integral part of our experience now. All of those small details, making up the picture of a person.
I would only have barely known of Anna's existence without Facebook. Through those pictures, those details, I watched her grow. Now I mourn her loss.
This evening I got an introduction - a baby boy, born to someone I used to work with. She and I weren't close friends, but I've seen her move, meet a man, and now, make a child. I will know that child's face. We may never meet in person, but I will smile as I watch him grow.
