Last week I went to see former Jays manager John Gibbons speak at the Toronto Public Library. While waiting for the talk to begin, I opened Facebook. I’m almost never on it anymore, just to occasionally post a photo (or my latest Musing), wish people a happy birthday and spend time in my baseball group.
A couple months ago, after sending a childhood friend I haven't seen for more than 20 years birthday wishes on Facebook, his mother "liked" my message. That family was like my second family; we lived across the alley from one another, they had two boys about my age, and I was in their home or outside with the boys probably close to half the days of my life from the ages of 5 to 12, before we gradually drifted apart, and were completely out of touch after high school. Mrs. Coughlin was practically a second mom to me during those years, and I was totally unprepared for how emotional seeing that "like" from her was for me, like a big hug from someone I didn't realize how much I missed.
Of course I went to her page, to see what it would tell me about how she's doing. I learned she and her husband still live in the same house, I learned one of the two boys I was so close to in grade school started a family a long time ago, and has two children now in high school... it was all wonderful. Then I came upon something else though, a picture of their youngest child, the boys younger sister, from when she was maybe 3 or 4 years old, close to the age I still picture her at, and with it was a message about how it was eight years since they'd lost her. Learning that she'd died when she was only 31 broke my heart.
I messaged Mrs. Coughlin, largely to express gratitude for how wonderful she'd always been to me, and to tell her how good it felt to see her name pop up, but also to express sadness and condolences for the staggering loss I didn't know the family had suffered years ago. She messaged me back, telling me how good it had felt when she saw my name, and how loved I was in the Coughlin home. She also told me a great deal about what her daughter had gone through for years leading up to her death, and it was devastating, both to know it, but also to realize how little I had thought about people who once meant so much to me.
Your final statement "Love is always enough." is enough for me to start the day as I head out the door to work, and a great reminder to try and spread it everyday.
Well written and thoughtful piece Ruth. There are many shades of sadness. You’ve captured many of its nuances in these reflections. And aptly called out the dual edges sword if Facebook memories that serve both to remind us and to illustrate the forgetfulness and I attention that these depositories of memories can encourage.
A couple months ago, after sending a childhood friend I haven't seen for more than 20 years birthday wishes on Facebook, his mother "liked" my message. That family was like my second family; we lived across the alley from one another, they had two boys about my age, and I was in their home or outside with the boys probably close to half the days of my life from the ages of 5 to 12, before we gradually drifted apart, and were completely out of touch after high school. Mrs. Coughlin was practically a second mom to me during those years, and I was totally unprepared for how emotional seeing that "like" from her was for me, like a big hug from someone I didn't realize how much I missed.
Of course I went to her page, to see what it would tell me about how she's doing. I learned she and her husband still live in the same house, I learned one of the two boys I was so close to in grade school started a family a long time ago, and has two children now in high school... it was all wonderful. Then I came upon something else though, a picture of their youngest child, the boys younger sister, from when she was maybe 3 or 4 years old, close to the age I still picture her at, and with it was a message about how it was eight years since they'd lost her. Learning that she'd died when she was only 31 broke my heart.
I messaged Mrs. Coughlin, largely to express gratitude for how wonderful she'd always been to me, and to tell her how good it felt to see her name pop up, but also to express sadness and condolences for the staggering loss I didn't know the family had suffered years ago. She messaged me back, telling me how good it had felt when she saw my name, and how loved I was in the Coughlin home. She also told me a great deal about what her daughter had gone through for years leading up to her death, and it was devastating, both to know it, but also to realize how little I had thought about people who once meant so much to me.
Your final statement "Love is always enough." is enough for me to start the day as I head out the door to work, and a great reminder to try and spread it everyday.
You are most certainly not alone in these thoughts, and you wrote about them beautifully. Thank you.
"That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompense. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue.—And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused"
Wordsworth
This is beautifully written and very moving, Ruth. And I love the final line.
Well written and thoughtful piece Ruth. There are many shades of sadness. You’ve captured many of its nuances in these reflections. And aptly called out the dual edges sword if Facebook memories that serve both to remind us and to illustrate the forgetfulness and I attention that these depositories of memories can encourage.