from peguy.net
My friend Flo died yesterday. This morning at 7 a.m. her usual spot was empty: center aisle, right side, sixth pew from the front, next to Maria and Sandy. I might be accused of taking the word friend lightly here. Flo was about 20 years older than me, lived on the other side of town, we never socialized outside of church. But every morning during the sign of peace, after turning in my place—sixth pew from the front, left aisle—and greeting my immediate neighbors, I would look down the pew to the center and across the aisle, and usually I would find Flo’s amazing face smiling back at me, seconded by a shy little wave. This morning Maria smiled gamely back at me through her tears. . . .
Friends. When I was a teenager, during the last Ice Age, I thought I knew what that meant. Friends were something you could rank: best, really good, good. They were all people you knew, whose hands you could touch, whose smiles you treasured. Friends had something to do with being nice, and popular, and probably something to do with loyalty, although my moral radar was not too finely tuned in those days. Friends were cool usually, though some were awkward and you liked them all the same.
I’m not sure how Flo would match up against those teenage metrics. Probably not well. Today friends to me means something else again. Flo was a Catholic friend, a new category in my life since I was received into the Church three years ago. She was, in fact, a special Catholic friend because, with 60 or 70 others, she was a regular at morning Mass, and I saw her almost daily. Our pastor made a special, moving mention of her absence this morning and you’ll never hear a deeper silence.
Being Catholic didn’t make Flo better than anyone else I know who isn’t, but it meant we had something, make that Something, in common. What you have in common is probably a universal marker of friendship and its quality: Being Pats fans together. Being tennis partners. Having kids in school together. . . . Being Catholic together happens to be my favorite category right now, and probably for the duration.
I doubt that Florence Marchegiani had a Facebook page. (OK. Just checked. She didn’t.) On Facebook I have 115 friends.Pretty pathetic, huh? But better than Flo, who had zero, right? Simone Back of Brighton, England, had 1,048 friends, which made her, what, nine times more popular than me? I write of Simone in the past tense because on Christmas night she took her own life. Before doing so she posted the following message on Facebook for all of her friends to see: “Took all my pills be dead soon bye bye everyone.” This would be a tragic story if it weren’t so appalling, because of the way some of Simone’s “friends” responded.
My friend Flo died yesterday. This morning at 7 a.m. her usual spot was empty: center aisle, right side, sixth pew from the front, next to Maria and Sandy. I might be accused of taking the word friend lightly here. Flo was about 20 years older than me, lived on the other side of town, we never socialized outside of church. But every morning during the sign of peace, after turning in my place—sixth pew from the front, left aisle—and greeting my immediate neighbors, I would look down the pew to the center and across the aisle, and usually I would find Flo’s amazing face smiling back at me, seconded by a shy little wave. This morning Maria smiled gamely back at me through her tears. . . .
Friends. When I was a teenager, during the last Ice Age, I thought I knew what that meant. Friends were something you could rank: best, really good, good. They were all people you knew, whose hands you could touch, whose smiles you treasured. Friends had something to do with being nice, and popular, and probably something to do with loyalty, although my moral radar was not too finely tuned in those days. Friends were cool usually, though some were awkward and you liked them all the same.
I’m not sure how Flo would match up against those teenage metrics. Probably not well. Today friends to me means something else again. Flo was a Catholic friend, a new category in my life since I was received into the Church three years ago. She was, in fact, a special Catholic friend because, with 60 or 70 others, she was a regular at morning Mass, and I saw her almost daily. Our pastor made a special, moving mention of her absence this morning and you’ll never hear a deeper silence.
Being Catholic didn’t make Flo better than anyone else I know who isn’t, but it meant we had something, make that Something, in common. What you have in common is probably a universal marker of friendship and its quality: Being Pats fans together. Being tennis partners. Having kids in school together. . . . Being Catholic together happens to be my favorite category right now, and probably for the duration.
I doubt that Florence Marchegiani had a Facebook page. (OK. Just checked. She didn’t.) On Facebook I have 115 friends.Pretty pathetic, huh? But better than Flo, who had zero, right? Simone Back of Brighton, England, had 1,048 friends, which made her, what, nine times more popular than me? I write of Simone in the past tense because on Christmas night she took her own life. Before doing so she posted the following message on Facebook for all of her friends to see: “Took all my pills be dead soon bye bye everyone.” This would be a tragic story if it weren’t so appalling, because of the way some of Simone’s “friends” responded.
According to the report in The Telegraph for January 7:
Some users of the site taunted the 42-year-old over her final status update instead of trying to save her, calling her a “liar” and saying the fatal overdose was “her choice.”
Yesterday her mother, Jennifer Langridge, said she was shocked and upset that nobody did anything for her daughter despite being aware of her threats.
Mental health charities said the case was a sad reflection on today’s society where friends made online are not necessarily friends in real life.
According to the same report, one “friend” wrote only minutes after Back’s post, when something still might have been done for her: “She ODs all the time and she lies.”
To which the proper response is, what? LOL? ROFLMAO?
My mood has shifted radically since returning from Mass and starting this post with the death of my friend Flo. I thought I would be able to wrap it up in a neat little package, returning to Flo at the end to make my final point. But now I risk leaving poor, desperate, lonely Simone Back without even a word. I guess I should end this awkward post like so:
Flo Marchegiani was my friend. Simone Beck surely had some real friends too. Pray for Flo, pray for them both.
Some users of the site taunted the 42-year-old over her final status update instead of trying to save her, calling her a “liar” and saying the fatal overdose was “her choice.”
Yesterday her mother, Jennifer Langridge, said she was shocked and upset that nobody did anything for her daughter despite being aware of her threats.
Mental health charities said the case was a sad reflection on today’s society where friends made online are not necessarily friends in real life.
According to the same report, one “friend” wrote only minutes after Back’s post, when something still might have been done for her: “She ODs all the time and she lies.”
To which the proper response is, what? LOL? ROFLMAO?
My mood has shifted radically since returning from Mass and starting this post with the death of my friend Flo. I thought I would be able to wrap it up in a neat little package, returning to Flo at the end to make my final point. But now I risk leaving poor, desperate, lonely Simone Back without even a word. I guess I should end this awkward post like so:
Flo Marchegiani was my friend. Simone Beck surely had some real friends too. Pray for Flo, pray for them both.
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