Status Update: Farewell to a Friend
Learning of a friend’s death on Facebook is a devastating shock. Without that online community, however, I might not have heard the news for some time. As former co-workers, this friend and I remained connected (in the digital dark ages) through that invisible chain-link network that trailed from our old office in San Francisco across miles and through the years as we both moved on to new careers, new cities, new lives. Then the funny little world of Facebook brought us back into direct (or indirect, as the case may be) contact, her wide smile popping up on my screen, cute snaps of my kids popping up on hers.
I haven’t seen Andrea for years. Just last month, however, my family took a short trip to the Bay Area to visit our old life and dear friends. I organized a big group lunch on the weekend we arrived and was thrilled when more than 30 people said they’d attend. Andrea was on the yes list. It would’ve been a genuine delight to have seen her walk through the restaurant doors, pulling off her sunglasses and throwing her arms wide for an all-encompassing embrace. It wouldn’t be long before she unleashed her huge laugh. (One of my favorite memories is of meeting for dinner years ago when I stumbled on approaching the sunken benches surrounding our table and belly-flopped straight into Andrea’s lap. I can still hear that wild roar of hilarity!)
Unfortunately, the Bay Bridge had been shut down just days before our big event and was still down that weekend. Coming from Berkeley, after her weekly radio show on KPFA, Andrea was on a tight schedule and cancelled at the last minute, unsure if she’d be able to “cross the great waters (by way of the GG Bridge) and negotiate cross-town traffic in time to get there before all the noodles get cold.”
Just 52. Massive heart attack. These facts do not compute.
I can’t travel to California for a memorial service. I don’t know anyone here who knew her, except my husband. We held each other and cried when we learned the news, shadowed by our worried children. The easiest way to reach out to others who loved her was to log back onto Facebook and visit her profile page, now a makeshift memorial. How lovely to read all the tributes, follow links to articles posted about her passing, as well as links to her own work, still vibrant and alive in the cyberworld. I posted my own farewell message, speaking directly to her just as others had done. Is Facebook posting equal to prayer? Do these messages, sent from the heart, reach the spirit wherever it may be? I hope so. I would like to say goodbye or, more accurately, to have said hello again, one last time.
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