This is a great article from by Bob Harrison “Because of Annie”
There’s no way, I could ever talk about my wife’s Annie’s journey through cancer, or my loss, on Facebook. The platform was so wrong for a broken hearted man. And rightfully so. It’s a big part of the social media industry, where people go to have a chit-chat with a friend or friends, play those silly games, meet new people, and the beat goes on. It was never envisioned to be a place for the bereaved, “or was it.”
After losing Annie, my grief was long and very difficult. The first changes in my grief were noted between the 4th and 5th year. There’s a few things I can contribute to helping me heal, but really, Facebook has to be up there near the top of the list.
No. I didn’t join Facebook, make a post and fifty people magically show up and rescue me. It wasn’t like that, nor were my expectations. At the time, I was living on hope…I just hoped one person would acknowledge how I was feeling, as I posted and waited for that “little red light” to come on.
When it comes to the loss of a loved one, or it could be a dog, a cat, your favorite pet, maybe your car was stolen, or you lost your job…Facebook friends immediately come on board and display an abundance of emotional support for their friend. And it’s a beautiful thing. But, there’s usually no staying power in these posts because there isn’t supposed to be. It’s usually a onetime post with maybe a follow up here are there that many friends don’t always see.
It certainly defied logic, but what is logical about grief and loneliness anyway. Nothing!
Here’s how it happened: Two days after Annie died, my daughter Melissa who was sitting at the computer, turned around and said to me, “Mom asked me to get you on Facebook after she died, so you could reconnect with family and old fiends. “I’ve now got it set up for you to include some friends, with requests for more. She motioned for me to come over and have a look. I told her I really wasn’t interested and left it at that.
On Nov 5th, 2010, 3 days after Annie died, I decided to have a sneaky peak at my Facebook page just for the heck of it. No intention of writing anything, quite frankly, I had no idea how it worked.
As I stared at the screen trying to figure out what I was looking at, I saw the words, “what’s on your mind.” Those 4 words, created the first trickle of leaking emotions, that eventually turned into a flood as the flood gates collapsed under my emotional pressure.
I noted that I had 60 friends. Many I didn’t know that well, and some not at all. They were Melissa’s friends, that knew about her momma and how bad I was struggling. I suppose, they just wanted to be there for me. Wow, were they ever.
On that day, 5 Nov, 2010, I made my first post:
“i just lost the love of my life”
Those eight little words, just as they were written, started me on my new journey with social media. And Facebook soon became a huge part of my new world. A world full of ups and downs, highs and lows, swings and roundabouts, and sometimes a cool breeze on a summers night, depending on who stopped by on my page for a chat. (Some folks are simply uplifting.)
Writing a post in the evening, the only thing that helped me sleep — then going to bed with the anticipation of what would be waiting for me in the morning, was a bit nerve racking.
What I was doing was very risky, due to the potential taboo of sharing such a personal part of my life on Facebook, and the biggie — the rejection factor. As I laid on my couch, I’d be thinking out loud, what if no one responded, I thought. Oh well, what did I have to lose. Everyone had already ran away from me…Because people don’t feel comfortable being around grievers. They just don’t know what to say during that awkward, moment of silence. And the truth is, I’d already been in Anticipatory grief and suffered from loneliness from the time I was told she would not survive her cancer, thirty months earlier. Being a caregiver or griever under certain conditions can be a very lonely and cold world to live in. However, we must move forward, one day at a time.
In the beginning the posts were like instant gratification and the beginning of an addiction, so to speak. Always chasing the high, looking for another feel good moment — “the little red light.”
Sometimes, I would sit in my dining room chair for long periods of time, just waiting for someone to reply. And then it would happen. That “little red light” came on and life was good, someone liked my post. It was just one, but it was a start, and to a griever, how wonderful to see someone acknowledge your feelings. But, the moment was fleeting as, I set back in my chair.
I really didn’t know what I was doing, but I had a vision, to inspire others, while letting the world know about Annie, and her traumatic life and death struggle with cancer… And the effects it had on her loving caregiver husband.
I posted my heart in a way that left me vulnerable to potential comments like, telling me Facebook was no place for a griever. However, that never happened. Instead, I got an outpouring of love and emotional support that was truly amazing. And I don’t know why. But I know this, the staying power of sharing my journey through grief with others, has not waned.
Over the past seven years I’ve created a network of friends, over 700, mostly through grief, which is always a good indicator that most are caring, kind and compassionate people, with a loving heart. My Facebook friends have always been there for me, like a beacon of light, or perhaps a ray of hope, helping me navigate the troubled waters that all grievers encounter.
I took a chance on Facebook and I guess, humanity, to hear my story, feel my pain, and understand that life is about love and being loved. At that point in my life, that was all that really mattered.
And I will tell you, beyond any doubt, when Melissa put my information on the Facebook page she created for me, and gave me some new friends, it was the beginning of something very special. It appeared I was creating my own rainbow, and I found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Almost seven years later it takes on the form of healing, unwavering friendships, and of course, the “Little Red Light.”