Life, Death and Facebook

I hadn't seen Brent since high school.

He was a classmate and soccer teammate of mine in high school. He was a skillful ball handler, and an honor roll student.

But, as happens, we graduated, and lost touch. Until Facebook came along.

Somewhere along the line, we again became "friends" on the social networking site. Still didn't talk much, but knew that he was there in case our parents bumped into each other, or if there was reunion news to pass on.

And, as with just about everyone on my friend list, I sent along a simple happy birthday message to him on April 11 -- one day after my own.

But for his birthday this year, I didn't post a message when prompted by Facebook. On April 18 last year, just seven days after his 40th birthday, Brent accidentally died in his home.

A family member reached out to tell his Facebook friends -- former classmates and co-workers -- about Brent's death. People posted their condolences and remembrances on his wall. Information on services were shared there, too.

Throughout the year, there have been other posts on his wall from people, remembering their friend. Sharing moments they would have shared in person.

There, when I logged on Wednesday, was a reminder for his birthday.

There have been 10 posts this week for his birthday. People expressing their sadness, as well as sending him messages through the ether. I don't know if any family members are still monitoring his account, but there are still 123 of us who remain friends -- with a dead man.

And the thought crossed my mind -- should I remove him from my friend list? I have more than 300, mostly family, former co-workers, classmates and fellow hockey fans. It would be perfectly understandable for me to remove him as a way to clean-up the list.

But it seems wrong. Because erasing Brent from my Facebook list would likely mean erasing him from my life completely. No, we weren't the greatest life-long friends that led for me to grieve for days -- or even attend his memorial.

But deleting him would mean deleting a piece of my past. The memories of him dribbling the ball up field, avoiding defenders and dishing off a pass to another teammate. The laughs we'd have during practice and on the bus to games. And the memories of him joining the badminton team at the end of our freshman season of soccer rather than transferring into another sixth period class (and he got pretty good at it, too).

I didn't post a birthday wish Wednesday, but I visited. Said my happy birthday to him in my head while looking at a picture of the man who looked as if he hadn't aged much in the 22 years since our graduation.

It's all just a reminder that every day we have on this earth is a blessing. It's a lesson we tend to lose in our day-to-day hustle and bustle.

He wasn't the first from our class to die. And he hasn't been the last, either. But it hit home. And it's nice to know that, thanks to Facebook, he really isn't gone forever.

He's just a digital wall away.