When people die, you don’t need to go to their grave, lay flowers, hug people, cry with family and friends, or any of that shit anymore. In Virtual Mourning, the CBC’s Georgie Binks discusses the online memorial phenomenon, and unfortunately, is quite uncritical of the whole thing. He enlists the help Aanabel Quan-Haase, an assistant professor of information and media studies at the University of Western Ontario, who thinks that if it’s new it must be good

Quan-Haase says “It would be inappropriate to show up at someone’s door, but the internet provides an alternative way to reach out to people without being in their face”.

Really? When did it become inappropriate to show up at somebody’s door with flowers and a card, and maybe a letter, and a hug, and an “I’ll be here if you need me”? That’s not “in their face”, that’s genuine comfort and mourning. The internet is a convenient way to mourn, but not an honest one. I’ve seen these online memorials on MySpace and elsewhere; it’s a lot of “I’m sorry”s and “you will be missed” and “you were like a star in the sky” bullshit, cliches. Worst of all, like anywhere else on the internet, the memorial turns into a competition and a way for people to advertise themselves. They leave a tribute or comment and also link to their website. It’s the equivalent of showing up at a funeral and giving the grieving family your Sun Life Insurance business card.

Quan Haase also says “When you see a (dead) person’s profile still on Facebook it gives them immortality. For a moment in time, their online persona is exactly the way they left it”.

First, there’s an assumption here that having a Facebook profile is a good thing to begin with. It isn’t, we’ve discussed this before. The real question is, do we really want to remember somebody by their “online persona” anyways? An “online persona” is usually an egocentric douche. Look at me! Look at all the inconsequential things I am doing in my life that I want you to know about! If you don’t talk about it on facebook it might as well not have happened at all!

People do just fine remembering the real-life versions of their deceased relatives and friends. They don’t just remember the parties and vacations and those other Facebook-friendly events. They remember the depressing, somber times. The silent struggles, the little victories met with a modest smile. These are things that really show a person’s worth. Discussing our loved ones’ memories with others is what truly makes somebody immortal.

And what is so good about seeing somebody’s persona ”exactly the way they left it”? Many of us have looked at somebody’s profile and been embarassed for that person. They talk too much about themselves. They stretch the truth. What if their last profile message is “Donald is… trying to decide if he is sober enough to drive”, or “Karen is… Hating life”?

This probably isn’t how we want to remember people. I am not saying that we should not mourn online. By all means, mourn online. I’m saying that we shouldn’t replace the “awkwardness” involved in mourning together, in real life, with the convenience and detachment of internet mourning, where one minute you’re writing your “so sorry” message, and the next, you’re jerking off to big-bootied latina porn.

Quan-Haase, and others like her who welcome this trend, need to be honest. It’s about convenience. When Quan-Haase says “The internet gives people an opportunity to deal with their collective grief over the loss of a loved one”, the key word is “opportunity”. If this person is really a “loved one” we should not be satisfied with just any “opportunity” to show some grief. It’s the quality of opportunity that matters. Here’s a simple way to look at it:

- Loved one dies – Go to the funeral, talk with friends and relatives, share stories, cry, party, whatever.

- Acquaintance dies – Maybe go to the funeral, at least send cards, flowers.

- Person you don’t know or honestly don’t care that much about dies – Post something on a message board.

You can even write a generic message, save it, and then and copy and paste it with a few minor adjustments when the opportunity arrives. Like this:

I’m so sorry. _____ was like a bright shining star in the sky. He/she will be missed so much. (Insert appropriate emoticon, ie: frowny face, or in case of a murder, frowny mad face, or in case of blowhard douchebag’s death, happy face with party hat). I will never forget the _____ and the _____. I know you are in a better place.

You can read Virtual Mourning here.