Tomorrow morning, I will I say a final goodbye to my friend, her husband, and her two small children. Chanda was one of the first people I met, and one of my first friends when I moved away from home and into Residence. I remember the night when we first bonded. We were about a week into school, and she awkwardly asked if she could use my computer to write an assignment. I don't remember if she actually finished the assignment, but I do remember giggling about how funny the term "dried raisins" was. She was always good for a laugh, and wasn't afraid to ham it up from time to time.
My fondest memory was when I came home from class one day in 2nd year, and I left my room open so everyone could watch tv before we went for supper. I remember walking in, and there were Chanda, Amanda, Erin, Ashley, and a few more, all huddled in my tiny room. Chanda had this huge jar of pickles, this big broad grin, and her hand wrist-deep in the jar, pulling out the biggest, smelliest pickle. She loved pickles. I think my room smelled like pickles for a week. I hate pickles.
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| Ashley, Me, Erin, and Chanda - I'd say...early 2002. This was not the infamous 'pickles night', but it's one of few digital pictures I have of us together. Photo from Ashley. |
Over the years, we went different directions, and grew apart, but you never forget your first group of friends away from home. Her wedding was the first wedding I crashed. I also think that was the last time where we were all together. As cynical and jaded as I am about love and weddings and shit, I try to make an effort to go. I used to jokingly say that the next time we would all see each other, one of us would be in a pine box.
I didn't think that "next time" would come so soon.
Fuck, this sucks. Tomorrow will suck.
It also sucks, because when Amanda got married, I couldn't get my shit together to go to her wedding. That was this past summer. It possibly would have been the last time I would have seen Chanda. Instant regret.
I'm done beating myself up over that part of the grieving process. We all grieve differently, especially when it shakes the shit out of your world. No one saw this coming. How could we? Chanda and her family were killed by a drunk driver. The accident was pretty horrific. It was all over the news, (fuck, it's still in the news...) and in a time where word travels even faster through social media, it travels damn fast. I'm thankful for close friends who called me with the bad news before shit hit the fan. It gave me a chance to absorb the first shockwave in good company.
Everything was 'fine' until the names were released Monday afternoon.
I think it could partly be shock of the situation, or maybe that the majority of the pictures in the news stories up until Monday afternoon only showed their mangled car. It was all still really abstract. I think I was probably still processing. Chanda's death really didn't hit until her family's picture ended up, pretty much continuously, on my Facebook home feed. Posts on her wall, on Jordan's wall, picture, after picture, after picture... Snowflakes. Jordan's aurora photographs. Images that appeared profound on the surface, but also seemed very impersonal. Followed by seemingly stiff, overly-polite statements like "This is tragic. Prayers and thoughts to [her] family and friends." I'd had enough.
Well, no shit this is tragic...but honestly your 'prayers' won't bring her or her family back. They won't take away the hurt in all our hearts. Your virtual rubber-necking is not helping. Your "prayers and thoughts" will not bring them back, nor do they actively help the situation. They do not change what happened. They will not change the effect of this in the future. They do not provide a solution. They. Don't. Help.
I couldn't take it anymore. I had to walk away.
Monday night, a conversation with a friend really struck a chord with me. He said, "It hurts so much because you cared about her.” (I’m pretty sure that was something he'd heard from his little sister.) Not once did he say, "I'm sorry for your loss" or "I'll keep you and the families in my thoughts." Instead it was, to the tune of, "this is complete garbage", and "that sucks". It was the first honest conversation I had about this whole situation.
Later that night, I was checking messages and quickly glanced at my home feed. Most people had moved on, as they do when they're not directly affected, but a few decided to post more "prayers and thoughts" to the family. I felt insulted, and partially enraged. I'm still a little angry. Again, your virtual rubber-necking is not helping.
Platitudes.... Phony platitudes. I'm sure it's well-meaning, but it's not helping. You are not helping. Your prayers are not going to bring that family back. It's like they keep poking at the wound. I had considered telling them to stop, but I knew that wouldn't solve the problem, because frankly, I'd had enough. I would likely get more "I'm so sorry for your loss.” Again—not helping.
Why can't we just be honest when grieving? Why are we so phony about it? I've had no problem saying, "Oh shit, this sucks" through this entire ordeal...because it does. It hurts. I'll never see my friend again. Girls Night with Rez friends will never be the same. They didn't happen often, but it's quality...not quantity. There will never be enough "sorry" in the world to bring Chanda and her family back.
So, to those posting "prayers" and "thoughts" and "tributes", go right ahead if it makes you feel better, but understand that this is the social media equivalent of rubber-necking--slowing down to peer into someone’s tragedy, but not really doing anything about it. If you want to help, then be actively helpful: be the DD, stop your friends from making stupid decisions, stop yourself from making a stupid decision and don’t drive because ‘you’re fine'. Don't just think...do.
Up to this point, the only real comfort I had found was in my own solitude, my work, and the conversations with mutual friends - some sad ones about funeral plans and eulogies, some happy ones about old photos and memories. Either way, social media was not helping my grieving process.
When I was ready to slowly come back to my home feed on FB, there were still posts about he accident, and the driver, and the tributes, the the "so sorry's". It still hurts. But you know what post was the most comforting in my grieving process? Something seemingly boring, presented as a notification of an inconvenience to Friday's commute.
It showed up once on my feed. Once. One post out of what seemed like hundreds...
It was a post from the Department of Highways, saying that there will be delays on Hwy 11 on Friday because a SaskPower crew will be doing work at the intersection of Hwy 11 and Wanuskewin -- the dangerous intersection where the accident happened. They're doing the leg-work to begin installing lights. It's not the be-all, end-all...but to me, up to that point, that routine announcement was the most comfort I had received from anyone. It did not mention the crash. It did not mention any names, or show any pictures. It did not mention that this was a dangerous intersection. It wasn't an "I'm sorry for your loss." Not even close. It was a step towards a preventative solution. It was taking action.
(Upon reflection, the majority of those posting "prayers and thoughts" are also the same people on my feed that continuously post the "vague inspirational post in front of pretty picture" kind of crap. That shit seems so phony to me. I've decided to unfollow and move on. Action—taken.)
I'm not angry with the drunk driver that killed my friend and her family. She made a decision, and she'll have to live with that decision. I'm angry with how we just can't be honest with one another. If something is awful, and it sucks...say so. Be active about it. If you can't be active, and provide a tangible solution, then please take your inaction elsewhere. Don't feel that you need to be polite and send "prayers" because of a stupid social convention. Be honest. Propose solutions.
I'm also angry with how it takes a situation like this for us to realize how important old friends are.
I spent the afternoon today with old friends; friends I wish I didn't have to see under such horrible circumstances. I'm terrible at keeping in touch. I get lost in work and school and I often forget to eat, let alone tell the people I care about that they're important to me. I'm going to work on changing that. I like to keep people at arm's length. It will be hard for me, but I want the people I care about to know just how deeply I care about them, even though I'm shit at showing it.
