Coping in the Digital Era

'Twas the summer of '07. My first real taste at law firm life, another summer away from the significant other, and the time when I realized that as much as I love the Arizona desert, it had ceased feeling like home to me years before. It was also the first time in my extremely blessed life that I had to deal with the passing of a friend (my sorority Sister) and understand death and loss in the 21st century.

It was Friday night and I was elated to be back in San Diego for the weekend to see my significant other, K. On the nice breezy drive from the airport to his house, I got the text message: "ARP was in a car accident, it's pretty bad." A couple hours later, another ominous message: "There's very little brain activity, she might not make it until the morning." Odd as it sounds, my first inclination was to jump on Facebook and Myspace. No news of a horrific car accident...it couldn't be true, could it? I held on to the rather naive belief to get myself to bed that night that if it was not broadcast on the virtual world, maybe it was a mistake...a gross exaggeration...

ARP and I had not been all that close. She pledged into the sorority after I already graduated and I could probably count the number of times we met in person on one hand. Still though, in my memory, she was beautiful, smart, funny, spunky, and committed to God, her family, and her Sisters. How could someone this amazing and talented be taken at such a young age?

By the next day, mid-morning, she was gone. This time, her Facebook and Myspace were already filled with tributes to ARP and how she had touched so many lives with her kindness, zest for life, and nonjudgmental willingness to accept people. I couldn't find the words to leave my own tribute, so I took the passive aggressive approach to virtual coping; I hugged her using Facebook's SuperPoke application.

Within a couple of days, a Facebook group created to honor her memory and disseminate information about her memorial service already had over 500 members. The service itself was a testament to the fact that with her genuine niceness, ARP had left a profound impression on most everyone who had the privilege to encounter her. There were hundreds of people that day, clad in orange t-shirts and blue jeans, standing under the hot oven-like rays of the Arizona sun, waiting for the chance to pay our respects and wish her a fond good-bye. Even in her passing, she had the ability to bring people together—to laugh, to tell stupid jokes, to cry, to weep, to mourn, and to be thankful for meaningful relationships.

Over the last two years, her pages still fill up with messages to let her know that her presence and impact are still very real. Maybe it’s because it’s a tangible way to feel close to her once again, to communicate our thoughts and feelings to her in a way that feels real…that she’s gone but not forgotten? Or maybe it’s just to let her know, ARP, you’re missed.