When my husband's youngest brother died - nearly 20 years ago now - it was pretty tragic. His name was Gavin and he was 29 and he had 3 brothers. My own little boys had only just been born, and they would never really know their uncle: a kind, contemplative soul.We kept all the letters he wrote to us over the years (and had many of our own returned); we had a good lot of photos most of which my husband the photographer had taken; and we even souvenired some of his clothes - including a colorful shirt my husband still takes out of the closet from time to time.
Gavin's LP record collection didn't find too many takers - CDs had already arrived - but we knew his taste in music and are still reminded of him when a Strangler song comes on somewhere, or Stan Ridgway.
His mother kept a few things handy - including his old Indian bangle and some other trinkets. So we had stuff to remember Gavin by - but not as much as might exist today. Gavin was born and died too soon for the internet and the internet's insinuating, chaotic, all consuming appetite for every detail of our lives.
Now, of course, most everything about our life seems to end up online somewhere. Or gets trapped in a computer or on a device. And for many of us, our wall on Facebook has quickly become a cornucopian mashup of experiences, friendships and memories: diaries, letters and our old bedroom walls somehow combined and available to all our family and friends.As important as all this ephemera is at any given moment, it becomes priceless when the person dies.
Sensitive to this, in 2009 Facebook came up with the idea of "memorializing" a Facebook page when the user dies:
When an account is memorialized, we set privacy so that only confirmed friends can see the profile or locate it in search. We try to protect the deceased's privacy by removing sensitive information such as contact information and status updates. Memorializing an account also prevents anyone from logging into it in the future, while still enabling friends and family to leave posts on the profile Wall in remembrance. "Memories of Friends Departed Endure on Facebook"
Not everyone is on Facebook - Gavin never was. But the New York Times this morning had the story of Paul Cebar - a musician from Milwaukee who is on Facebook - but whose mother never was. Not until Paul Cebar created an online memorial to her on his Facebook page anyway. It was on the web that he found solace and community, the equivalent perhaps of a formal religious ritual - a wake, a shiva or a memorial service. These sites provide a longevity and global reach for noncelebrities that no memorial book, no poster board of snapshots, no eulogy, however eloquent, can possibly equal. In an era when religious practice is often rooted in personal acts of spirituality rather than in fixed, denominational rites, Facebook can host a new kind of congregation: "In a New Ritual, Many Find Solace Online"
Paul Cebar has since started a photo page devoted to his mother and called "Dorothy's time" (on the sensational new blog site "tumblr").
We are lucky to be living at a time when we can create tributes to our departed loved ones. Lucky to have such splendid multimedia and digital tools to create our memorials. And lucky to have such a choice of freely hosted websites on which to remember them.
As for Gavin, it is up to my husband if he wants to create an online memorial to his lost loved brother. I do keep him pretty busy with the video memorial side of our personal history business - so it may take a while. Maybe this small blog post will be his catalyst. Let it be yours also. Read more!
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