A recent NY Times commentary, "The Art of Condolence" by author Bruce Feiler, wades into these choppy waters of shifting cultural expectations.

Penned after Feiler's own mighty struggle to write a condolence letter upon the death of a teenager in his community, in the essay Feiler reflects upon the condolence letter genre, and then shares seven helpful tips.

The tips seem quite reasonable, actually, but I was struck instead by the framing of the piece.

In the introduction, Feiler notes, "But these days, as Facebooking, Snapchatting or simply ignoring friends has become fashionable, the rules of expressing sympathy have become muddied at best, and concealed in an onslaught of emoji at worst.

"Sorry about Mom. Sad face, sad face, crying face, heart, heart, unicorn."

I take the point, I suppose, that changing patterns of communication are requiring new decisions about what's most appropriate when.

And, Feiler's sixth tip addresses the issue in a general way: "Facebook is not enough."

Of course it isn't.

Two things seem missing in Feiler's quick pass at digital grieving (by the way, a group I'm working with may present some related research down the line).

First, the strength of the relationship with the person mourning matters enormously.

If the grieving party is a close friend, or grieving because of a close friend or relative of mine, of course I will write a hand-written note of condolence. But Facebook and other social media tools extend network relationships well beyond what was possible in the past.

So, if a friend of a friend's cousin who I met at a party once three years ago posts a Facebook update upon a death in the family, it wouldn't actually be appropriate to send a hand-written note.

In that case, using Facebook as a communication platform seems fine. Continue reading

• Adam J. Copeland teaches practical theology, listens to NPR, drinks scotch, devours sharp cheddar, and tries to ask great questions.

It was 10 years ago on a dreary, damp, overcast Monday, around 1 p.m. in a windowless, bare, cinder block room just large enough for a king-size bed, a bedroom converted from a storeroom in a vending machine repair shop, in an aging industrial section of the west end of Tulsa, Okla., that our 26-year-old, beautiful, charming, loving, occasionally brilliant, multitalented, bipolar daughter found a hidden .22 caliber rifle, propped it up between the bedspring and the mattress, rested it on her chest, reached down, pulled the trigger, probably with her right thumb, and died instantly as the bullet ripped through her body, severing her aorta with what the medical examiner later described as a "perforating contact gunshot wound of the chest."

Our soul has been weeping ever since.

I miss her. Her mother and her twin brother miss her. We will always miss her. I want to always miss her. But I want to accept missing her. Someday I will. Her death still hurts, but it's getting better now.

At first, grief emotions attacked from everywhere. There was anger in my oatmeal, regret in the trees in my neighbor's backyard, depression drove my car to the grocery store, and frustration hijacked my dreams, my TV, treadmill and prayer. Continue reading

Sources

• Tom Smith in National Catholic Reporter
• Image: Karla Smith Foundation

Tom Smith is president of the Karla Smith Foundation, supporting families affected by mental illness and suicide across the United States.

The 33-year old was dying.

By the time his friends realised he was not joking, by the time paramedics navigated the stairs to the lecture theatre and by the time they got him to hospital, he was brain dead.

"They call it sudden adult death syndrome, where a seemingly perfectly fine young person drops dead," says his sister, Bronwen Fallens.

Eleven days later, Fallens and her mother made the decision to turn off his life support.

"We were lucky we got to be there. I held him in my arms as he passed and had his favourite music playing," she says.

The reactions of her friends to the death were varied, she says. Some rallied around her. Others made comments the 39-year-old says shocked and hurt her.

"Some people lose babies," one friend said.

"At least he got to 33."

Another friend compared the death to going through a divorce. Others said nothing at all.

"They're scared of catching it, your misery," Fallens says. "They think if they get too close to it, it will rub off on them. I ended up shedding the friends who couldn't understand."

Grief can be like having a mental illness, she says.

"I was in a world of misery. You're not yourself. Some people seem to think you should snap out of it and they judge you for grieving for so long."

When her father died with dementia a year later, aged 74, Fallens says she received an entirely different reaction. Some people didn't even send flowers or a card.

"It is as though you're not expected to be sad because he was old and sick and it was for the best, people say. But he was my father. I have lifelong memories of him from when I was a baby, long before he got sick." Continue reading

Sources

• Melissa Davey in Stuff
• Image: Tribework

Melissa Davey is a Sydney Morning Herald journalist

Donald Stewart Wills, 66, of Morison's Bush, appeared for sentencing today before Judge Bill Hastings on a charge of careless driving causing the death of Ricki Cobb on the Waiohine Bridge near Carterton 18 months ago. Continue reading