Online Loss

This week I realized how deep the relationships I have formed online can go.

On Twitter this week, I read about one follower who had surgery. In another tweet, one mother wrote in that a fellow "TwitterMom" lost her little baby girl. In my company, I received a thank-you card from a grieving family, whose daughter died suddenly in a motorcycle accident. And, then finally, I received news from one of my social communities that a woman I had welcomed into the group had passed away yesterday.

That was the straw that broke it for me.

I know I belong to a invisible disabilities community. I know that many of the members struggle with diseases and disorders, some treatable, some incurable. Some deadly. But what caught me completely off guard was the realization that I have never laid eyes on any of these people.

Every one of them were connections I made through the technology of our present age. Through screens and text. Through digitized pictures and personal online journals. Through little 140 character messages sent from one geographical dot on the globe to another.

This won't be a long post today. My heart is so full of emotions. I wish I could be there to wrap my arms around family members. I wish I could stand by as they lowered little caskets and tossed flower petals. I want to come by the next day or the next week with a casserole and leave it wordlessly in the fridge. I want to do someone's laundry; weed someone's garden. Something to show I care and am nearby.

But, I can't.

I can only text back my condolences.I can send a card. I can leave memorial pictures like the one above on personal profile pages. It may not be what I want to do, but it is something. When words are not enough, any action can convey love and compassion.

That's all I have for today.

Oh,no. I do have one more thing to say.

If one more expert and guru tells you that Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn and even MySpace are a waste of anyone's time, just tell them about all the mothers supporting a mom who lost her baby. Talk about the family that received cards from complete strangers as they buried their daughter, surrounded by her teenage children. Tell them about this blog; send them to this post.

I just have one thing to say to them. If it connects people, it matters.

Telling a Hard Story

After writing the last blog post, I started another one right away, and stopped.

It was too difficult to just jump right in and talk about how this last year has changed us. I realized that I was not that detached from the emotions this year stirred up. It was still difficult to talk about the changes, the loss and the bewildering confusion.

Then I realized that this blog was my way of coping. That every day that I attempted to write this stuff down was a day of recovery. Others might read it or might not, but once it was written down, for me, it would be a successful day. Another day after a bad one. I realized if I could put a whole lot of days like that behind me, we (my son and I) would turn around eventually and see how far we had come.

Grief is the human response to loss. Loss of any kind. The death of something can be just as painful as the death of someone. In having to let go of a former life, do we pause to grieve? Or do we do like our society tell us, "start a new business, get back into the scene, try a new hobby..." Even when someone suggests counseling, it is more about "moving on" than dealing with grief.

I found out that giving ourselves time to grieve what we have lost is so important. It validates our feelings and our situation. It lets us know that we are not just a blip on an evolutionary timeline. Something hurt and I am going to stop and acknowledge it! That doesn't make us weak or failures. We are not just complaining. To grieve is one of the most human things we can do...and should do.

Have you grieved the changes in your life? What helps you in your process? Can you look back on it or is it a daily thing? Has it taught you anything or brought out things in you that you never knew you had? I would love to hear about it.