Grieving on the Internet, Part 2
This is a follow-up on my last blog post, as I came across this article in The Atlantic shortly after writing the post about the death of my friend's mother and how friends reacted on social media. Fair warning, the article is tough to swallow at times and discusses an uneasy subject in a frank manner, though I do believe that is the point.
The author of the article lost a sister and discusses the reactions of 'friends' on social media. She felt smothered by those publicly grieving for a sister whom she was still very much privately grieving. (One 'friend' even announced the passing on Facebook before the family could alert extended family/close friends.)
The article touches (far more eloquently) on some of the points I noted in my last blog, including an interesting take on the difference between mourning and grief and the gray space that exists in between. Mourning can be suited to social media, where friends and family can step in from around the world to comfort the bereaved and offer support. But the author writes that grief is not suited to Facebook or Twitter. It isn't suited to strangers offering up well-intentioned messages full of polite platitudes because grief is not polite.
I find this an interesting perspective, one that I have felt to a degree. I appreciated friends reaching out with messages on Facebook offering support, as they knew my friend's mom was a second mother to me. But I think I appreciated those more because they were private and I could respond or not respond in private. The public timeline/wall posts are what I felt more uncomfortable with, as my response, if any, was so much more public and felt like an invitation into a grieving process that wasn't mine to share.
The author ends the article by writing of empathy and asks that social media users consider what might be proper and wanted in terms of a public display of condolences - essentially, boiling down one's response to being empathetic. It's an interesting debate, as I'm sure many grieving people have been comforted by social media response. Though that's another point the author makes - there's no rules to grieving. So I believe that is why she encourages empathy and patience. (And I would agree.)
The author of the article lost a sister and discusses the reactions of 'friends' on social media. She felt smothered by those publicly grieving for a sister whom she was still very much privately grieving. (One 'friend' even announced the passing on Facebook before the family could alert extended family/close friends.)
The article touches (far more eloquently) on some of the points I noted in my last blog, including an interesting take on the difference between mourning and grief and the gray space that exists in between. Mourning can be suited to social media, where friends and family can step in from around the world to comfort the bereaved and offer support. But the author writes that grief is not suited to Facebook or Twitter. It isn't suited to strangers offering up well-intentioned messages full of polite platitudes because grief is not polite.
I find this an interesting perspective, one that I have felt to a degree. I appreciated friends reaching out with messages on Facebook offering support, as they knew my friend's mom was a second mother to me. But I think I appreciated those more because they were private and I could respond or not respond in private. The public timeline/wall posts are what I felt more uncomfortable with, as my response, if any, was so much more public and felt like an invitation into a grieving process that wasn't mine to share.
The author ends the article by writing of empathy and asks that social media users consider what might be proper and wanted in terms of a public display of condolences - essentially, boiling down one's response to being empathetic. It's an interesting debate, as I'm sure many grieving people have been comforted by social media response. Though that's another point the author makes - there's no rules to grieving. So I believe that is why she encourages empathy and patience. (And I would agree.)
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