I Only Knew Him on Social Media— Am I Allowed to Grieve?
And my centenarian grandmother’s advice.
“Jeannie Norblatt died at the home in Celina last month,” my grandmother told us. “She was Loretta’s second cousin by marriage.”
We’d been at Grandma’s house fewer than five minutes, barely long enough to hug her hello and take off our winter coats. My sister and I, surly teenagers both of us, shot each other a side-eyed glance. Again with the dead people, Grandma? Always the dead people.
Dead neighbors at the nursing home. Dead friends on farms. Dead strangers far away and dead relations up the road. Showing superhuman restraint, I didn’t roll my eyes…until Grandma looked away. I couldn’t have cared less about Jeanie Norblatt.
It was like that whenever we visited her in Ohio. Always the dead people — maybe not right away, maybe first we spoke of family news or school or the weather, but you could set your watch by it — dead folks were on the agenda.
I never understood the compulsion. And what do you do when you don’t understand something? You make fun of it. My sister and I, heaven forgive us, made all of the jokes. But what did we know? What was death to us, the impertinent, impetuous young?
Much older now and a little wiser, I’m starting to see where my grandmother was coming from.
There’s an app on my phone called Strava and it’s my favorite social media platform. Instagram for athletes, you post your workouts for friends to see. For example, a friend of mine rode the length of the Blue Ridge Parkway this summer. Strava showed me his route, how fast he went, and how high he climbed. He and I rode miles together in college. Following his trip on the app, it was like I was riding along with him again.
Sharing workouts is a surprisingly intimate thing. Because workout data — where you rode, how far, how fast, heart rate during the ride — doesn’t lie. It’s harder to fake a good workout than a happy vacation pict.
If I see you cheesing on Facebook in front of the Arc de Triomphe, I don’t know what’s really going on. It looks like you’re having the trip of a lifetime, but maybe you’re faking it. I can’t tell. On Strava, if you’re having a big day, I’ll know. The route map and your numbers tell the story.
Not to say the app is perfect. Sometimes I find myself judging a run or a ride on how it’s going to look on the app instead of enjoying the experience.
And there’s the comparison piece. When someone rips off ten 6:30 miles in the summer heat, hammers a 15k erg piece at your sprint pace, or casually crushes a century in the big mountains it’s easy to feel like you suck, that your best days are pretty damn pedestrian.
Luckily, I’m getting to the point where I care a little less about that stuff and I’m able to just be happy for you when you’re living well and doing the work. I love the feature that lets you give friends “kudos” on their workouts. But I’m not too generous with my praise. I only mash the thumbs-up button for legit outings…a big day for sure but also for taking your kids for a spin on a gravel path.
But checking Strava — posting my stuff, seeing what friends are up to, and doling out kudos — took a rough turn this week.
On July 30th, 2022, about a week ago, a person who may have been under the influence was headed north on a Michigan highway. A UPS truck in front of their vehicle slowed. In a rush to pass, without braking, they swerved their SUV across the double yellow line into the southbound lane.
On July 30th, 2022, about a week ago, Ed Erickson, a person I follow on Strava was riding south on a Michigan highway in a small pack of cyclists during a Make-a-Wish fundraising event. A UPS truck in the opposite lane slowed; from behind it an SUV swerved into his path.
Ed and a friend of his were killed. Three more were injured.
I started following Ed last summer after I moved to Ann Arbor and wanted ride ideas. Ed lived less than a mile from me, rode lots, and posted his rides publicly so I mined his profile for the goods. My go-to ride is a route Ed rode all the time.
We never met, but I got to know him. I saw his workout data, how much fun he had riding his fat-tire bike in the snow, and picts of his kids on outdoor adventures.
Never getting up the nerve to introduce myself is a thing I regret. Ed’s posts, his obit, and what I hear from folks who knew him tell me that he was a good one, that I missed out. At least I gave him lots of kudos.
Social media grief is super strange. How to process the death of someone that I “knew” but didn’t know? How to deal with the gut punch of scrolling through Strava, giving Ed kudos on July 29th, then seeing in the comments of that post that he was gone. There was no post on July 30th.
There’s Go Fund Me which helps a little.
But honestly, am I even allowed to grieve? It feels affected to have the feelings I’m having. And are they even about Ed? Or is it that I, a middle aged dad, husband, and athlete am shaken by the reminder that my time is coming?
Maybe it’ll be here soon — out of the blue from around a slowing UPS truck. Or much, much later in a memory care ward, having forgotten everything that I ever cared about? Either way, this body has an expiration date.
I don’t know. It’s bewildering. But I do feel compelled to tell you that Ed from Ann Arbor died even though, like me, you didn’t know him.
It’s right to note his passing, to mark the life that was and the end of it. So I’ll say his name to you. I’m telling you that he was here and now he’s gone.
And I get it know. This is what Grandma was about. Bless her for it. She was marking the passing — of family, friends, and acquaintances to be sure, but also of her own days and, I suppose, of mine.
Grandma? She’s still kicking. She turned 100 this year. Heck of a birthday party. When she dies, I’ll let you know. It will be with love in my heart when I tell you she passed away at the home down in Columbus.
Author’s note: Lois Lammers passed away up at the home in Columbus on February 7, 2023. Just wanted to let you know. She’ll be missed.
