Tweeting Through The Grief

Last week’s episode of Glee once again featured Jean Sylvester, Sue Sylvester’s older sister who has Down Syndrome (as does the actress – thanks to the creators of Glee).  The show had shown her before and it gets me wistful but this one brought me to hysterical tears.  Glee is an over-the-top piece of musical satire, equal parts Mean Girls and Buffy Musical Episode. This one tore a hole right through me.  I sat here watching it alone on my couch, feeling not a just a little fluish.  And watching a scene with Sue and her sister made me think of my older brother Joe.

With tears running down my cheeks, I sent out a couple of tweets in memory of my brother and my late mother.  Alone, having called my sister and gotten voicemail, it was all I could think to do.  I feel a little better for it.  It’s not the first time I’ve tweeted out of grief and it may not be the last time.  I don’t know if it truly works but, on the surface, it makes me feel better.

Additionally, yesterday was Mother’s Day.  I sent out some tweets through Tweetdeck (I don’t have Trending Topics up on Tweetdeck but I’m sure that Mother’s Day was at the top of the list).  And from Twitter, I got a goodly amount of words of support from my tweeps.  To them, I say thank you.  The rest of the day was a bit blue and spent puttering around the house.  And the words of support were a welcome addition.  Most of my tweeps know of my losses.  Please bear with me as I overshare with you, gentle readers.  But, if anything, oversharing on the internet is highly therapeutic.  It is, in my experience, a great tool to use to work through the grieving process.

I had an older brother named Joseph Harold Baron.  He was my father’s first-born and was named for my father’s late father, Joseph, and my mother’s late mother, Harriet – both of whom had died several years before Joe’s birth.  Joe was born with many problems, most connected with his brain.  The most prominent were his severe emotional and learning disabilities.  He died seven years ago this March, a week before the baseball season opened and his beloved Cubs were eliminated from their run for the National League pennant two weeks before he would have turned 33.  I don’t think of Joe often and when I do, it’s because something reminds me of him.

Additionally, last year, eight days before Joe’s birthday, my mother died of smoking-related lung cancer.  She had never gotten over the loss of Joe (why would she?) and grieved him to the end.  She is still at the top of my speed dial list.  I have a digital photo of her – the last before the chemotherapy and radiation took her hair and withered her.  I keep the photo in numerous places on the internet so it will not be lost.  If she was still around, I wouldn’t be writing these words.

I would have called her and she would have offered me the comforting words that only a mother can say.  In fact, it’s not the first time this has happened.  Years ago, there was an episode of My Name Is Earl where Randy (depicted as dim-witted but not mentally challenged) spoke up for himself after Earl, his younger brother, had dismissed his ideas one too many times.  He said, “Earl, you’re not the big brother.  I am.”  Or something to that effect.  It stung.  It was exactly what Joe said to me once.  In the exact same way.  And through the tears, I picked up the phone and dialed Mom.  And I wanted to do that again but she’s not still around.  And her phone number is just a phone number and a digital photo in my cell phone.

Crying in my living room, the rest of Glee playing in the background, I operated on auto-pilot.  I sent out a tweet for Joe.  And it wasn’t enough.  I missed my mother too.  So, still nearly involuntarily, I got out a photo of them from my graduation, took a picture of the picture, and tweeted it too.  I needed to share my grief.  I needed to get it out there.  And wailing and crying alone in my living room was not enough.

The night my mother went to sleep for the last time, I sent out a tweet asking for prayers for her (I’m still crying as I type this).  It was my last for several days.  My mind built up a wall around her death afterward and the wall only comes down a few times.  Not being able to call her now – nearly deprived of any social contact be it face-to-face, on the telephone, or in a chat window, I felt lost and was grasping for some human contact – any contact.

Last year, a woman lost her child and, like me, tweeted for prayers as a last resort while her child lay dying.  I know why she did it.  Another blogger – one that I once respected – took issue with this and we got into a little and very minor internet feud.  And yes, I do still hold the grudge because I will never fault a person for his or her actions in times of desperate need.

We are social creatures.  We need each other.  And in times of pain, we reach out.  Twitter and Facebook and blogs are that last plank of wood in the rough and sometimes lonely seas of our 21st Century existence.  Yes, there are worthless Facebook page petitions where people purportedly support some cause by half-heartedly clicking a button.  Yes, Twitter is full of memes and Tiger Woods jokes and Justin Bieber obsession.  But Twitter and Facebook also can serve as that last outlet – an endless canyon into which we may shout and cry for help.

These are lonesome times.  It’s not out of a plea for attention.  It’s not pathetic – not as the word is commonly-used.  It is something more.  And I’m glad that Twitter is there.  If only for when something – even if it’s just some TV program – makes me break down and cry.  This is why some of us tweet and blog and facebook.  To let someone – anyone – hear our words.

(To the cast and crew of Glee, yes.  Yes I will probably think of Joe and sob every time you have an episode with Jean.  And that’s not a bad thing.)