It feels fitting to reflect on this topic, as I initially connected with my dear friend through Twitter back in 2009. Our friendship blossomed through quick exchanges of messages—sometimes just between the two of us, and other times within groups of six or more. Over time, we transitioned from virtual interactions to meeting in person. A couple of years later, a few friends in the publishing world and I organized lunches where many of us gathered, including my friend. These three-course meals brought together dozens of people who may never have crossed paths otherwise. Bonds were formed that have only deepened over the years.
Some friendships faded, while others struggled; a few grew stronger, and a couple remained friendly but distant. Throughout this journey, we were aware that my friend was battling illness. She opened up about her experience with breast cancer on her blog, providing a candid look at her life to show others facing similar challenges that they were not alone. She shared her values—family, beauty, and a commitment to advocacy—through thoughtful posts.
In 2012, she calmly announced that her breast cancer had returned, and it was now Stage 4 and metastatic.
I have encountered mortality before, and I recognized it during a dinner with her in 2013, knowing it would be the last time I saw her vibrant self. Despite the medications and pain, she radiated beauty and grace, engaging with her children’s silly restaurant preferences as eagerly as she inquired about my travels. Even in her struggle, she exemplified how to live life fully.
This approach wasn’t just how she faced her death; it was how she embraced life. Many came to know her primarily through her online presence, and it’s easy to associate her positive outlook with her declining health.
My friend left this world just as she lived: authentically and without pretense. She wasn’t trying to craft an online persona or alter herself because she was aware of her limited time.
We might be the first generation experiencing grief through social media in such a profound way, where friendships are formed and nurtured in a unique space filled with news, humor, and genuine connections.
After her passing, I was often asked, “How well did you know her?” I had shared several lunches and brunches with her, and even visited her home for dinner. While others may have known her more intimately, I felt our connection was sincere.
This question tends to stem from a benign curiosity; people often want to gauge the depth of your sadness over the loss. Yet, how can one truly measure such a thing? The realm of online friendships allows each person to curate their own collection of memories. For some, it may be a single quote, while others might share numerous photographs. This experience can feel both inclusive and isolating, as not all expressions of grief reflect the same depth of relationship.
There’s no universal standard for grief. I’m sharing my thoughts in hopes that others who are mourning our friend will find solace in knowing that any moment shared with her held significance. Our personal recollections enrich our collective memories, giving meaning to our shared experiences. I cherish seeing everyone’s photos and tributes, but without my own memories, they would merely represent distant highlights rather than personal treasures.
My friend, Emily Carter, passed away last week. I miss her dearly and hope these reflections help illuminate my grief. If you didn’t know her, I wish you could have.
Emily was a celebrated cancer blogger who left behind her husband, Mike, and their three children, Lily, Noah, and Jake. Consider supporting her legacy by donating to her foundation or reading her final blog post. Her guiding principles were to “Discover beauty in every day and share it” and to “Make the most of today, regardless of how small those efforts may seem.”
In summary, as we navigate our emotions in the digital age, it’s essential to remember that while social media can amplify our connections, the essence of our relationships is what truly defines our experiences of loss and love.