On friendship, Facebook and otherwise
AKA A pre-mortem "eulogy" for Jennifer Freed-Angiletta
What does it mean to be a "real friend" to someone?
The age of technology and social media is constantly under attack for being instrumental in the demise of "real connections" between people. For creating an illusion of happiness when people are feeling empty inside.
I beg to differ. I am guilty of social media addiction, but i have to refute the all-encompassing tenet that social media isn't real, and doesn't allow for real connections to people.
Let me tell you about my friend Jen Freed-Angiletta.
Jen and I re-connected on social media. We were junior high school friends. To be honest, I remembered her face, and her name, but I couldn't recall any memories. It was a long fucking time ago. But I really remember our mutual friend Maria, because even back then she was loud and gregarious and larger than life.
Jen, on Facebook, liked reading my travel blogs. She always commented, always warm and positive. Like my own little cheerleader. "Keep going! More blogging! I love it!" Turns out, she was a bit of a traveler herself, and really liked my perspective.
Well, I have a more than a touch of narcissism, and anyone who thinks I'm great is usually ok with me. I didn't follow too much of what she did (again, narcissist), but my overall feeling about her was that she was a genuinely warm, kind, positive, person.
Maria, Jen, and I get into a private Facebook chat about getting together for a reunion. They live in Long Island, kinda far, and I live in the city, and yadda yadda, everyone's lives get in the way and shit gets postponed. Over and over. For a couple of years I think.
And then my younger sister dies, unexpected and suddenly. Her name's Jen, too, coincidentally. I'm crushed. And Jen sends me such a lovely note about how much she and Maria wanted to come to the shiva and were really upset they couldn't make it.
She tells me a number of times how much she was bothered she couldn't come to the shiva.
Now, Jen's a Jew, and it's considered a mitzvah (good deed) to go to a shiva, which I really appreciated, but in the same token I was like "girl, I haven't seen you since we were 12. Calm the fuck down, it's all good."
But that's who Jen is. Just a really good fucking person. And super guilty about not making it to a shiva to pay her respects to barely-a-friend.
People say that all the time. “Oh, so-and-so is a good person.” Now, I don't often like people like this. They bore me. If all I can say about someone is that they're "nice," there's usually some nasty comment that follow it. Because I'm an asshole. I like people with a bit of an edge. Not total dicks; I never want to get fucked over by someone and, and in the rare occasion it does happen, that person usually doesn't get a second chance. But I do often value "interesting" over just plain kind. Of course, this choice often comes back to bite me in the ass.
I live in NYC. We're full of interesting, and not always so full of kind. Sometimes we're so busy trying to be interesting that we are sometimes superficial, sometimes self-indulgent and self-centered, and sometimes don't take the time to be just kind. We don't always make time for each other.
So if you want to talk about "real" friendship, sometimes when you're a native New Yorker, you question what that even means. Maybe I'm only speaking for myself, but I doubt it, as people often refer to this once they move the fuck out of this town. As more and more of my closest friends leave NYC, or get married and have kids, I realize that in a bustling city, friendships, even really close ones, are often a friendship when it's convenient. Maybe that's what it's like everywhere in the world. I've only lived here, and right or not, I think I attribute it to City living. Most of us are transient here, whether we know it or not. I'm permanent. I'm not having kids and I'm not leaving here. Sometimes I get left behind.
So I've come to really value friends who have come to me through Facebook, long distance, because they're a constant, even if low-key and lying slightly beneath the surface.
So, back to Jen. I travel three times a year, and I write my blogs, and she's a super fan. She always interacts and shares my good time with me. I write because I enjoy doing so, and although even the narcissist in me doesn't need hundreds of followers, I do like when someone enjoys the fruits of my labor and musings.
We finally put our collective foot down: me, Jen, and Maria. We're gonna meet up when I get home from wherever the hell I was. No excuses. We make a date.
Date comes around, Jen's not feeling well. For weeks. I think I said something along the lines of, WHATEVER, ILL COME TO YOUR HOUSE And we'll hang out by your bedside.
Until Maria sends me a message to call her. I've never spoken to Maria on the phone, even in JHS. It's bad. She's crying. "Jen has cancer. Everywhere."
She doesn't even know what kind of cancer she's got. It's just everywhere. And it doesn't look good.
So I call Jen right away. In a sarcastic tone, I tell her that cancer is a bullshit way of trying to get out of our date.
This is really not an appropriate thing to say, much less to someone who just found out she had cancer, who I barely know. But I risk it, because if she likes my writing, she already knows I'm an asshole. And she seems to like me and want me in her life. And not that facing cancer is the same as grieving a lost loved one, but I know what I hated most when my sister died was the pity face I got from people. You know, a cocked head and a big frown. Stop looking at me that way and just say "I'm really fucking sorry. That's fucked up. Let me buy you a drink." I wasn't going to give her the verbal equivalent of the pity face.
She laughs. Heartily. And says, "listen, if I die, this is important. Come to the house and tell Sal that there's a present for you in the closet. It's a silver elephant on a necklace I bought for you in africa that I wanted to give to you because I couldn't make it to your sister's shiva. I'm serious, you have to have it."
Who goes to Africa and buys a souvenir for a "friend" she had 30 years ago, because she couldn't come to a shiva? Only Jen. That's the kind of girl she is.
And now the girl just finds out she's got cancer everywhere, and all she's doing is apologizing for missing our date and making sure I get a parting gift at her funeral.
And instantly, I knew that Jen Freed-Angiletta was my people. And that she isn't just "nice," she's something special. And she's a bit twisted. Thank god. And now I'm pissed she has fucking cancer. This is bullshit.
I make sure Maria and I make a date to see her. I remember saying something to the effect of "Bitch, you ain't dying before I come out there. You're going to hand me that fucking elephant. I'm not picking it up at some bullshit funeral."
We meet up at her place. And she's everything I'd expect and then some. She's a little weak from the beginning rounds of whatever poison they're giving her, but she's determined and we go to a fun lunch and there's nothing but laughter. Well, some dizziness but mostly laughter. She's just as great in person. But even better, because I get to understand that all that positive bullshit she posts on my FB wall when I travel is also the kind of positivity she expresses about her wonderful friends and her amazing husband and her snuggly horse of a dog and trying to survive cancer.
She's positive in a way I am not. She keeps making jokes about dying, self-deprecating and uncomfortable to most but funny as fuck to me, and she ain't crying about it. At least on the outside. She's appreciating the folks around her and the time she's had with people. She often posts memories on Facebook, choosing to focus on the happiness she's experienced with her loved ones rather than the future ones she might not get to enjoy.
What a fucking role model. What an amazing spirit. I still don't know her too well, but I know myself. I've got some work to do, if i ever find myself in the same position. She's a beautiful woman and I'm so blessed to be in her life, to bear witness to her strength along her path, even if it's only tangentially. We're all mortal, and our number will be up one day. And should my passing not be sudden, I'm glad I have Jen to look up to. I want to be brave and strong like her.
I don't wear a lot of jewelry. Not usually necklaces. And elephants aren't super special to me in any way. But I put it on right away, and tell her I'm not taking it off until she's cancer free or dead. Except during sex, so I don't get strangled in the process. "Only one reason ," I remind her as she notices the elephant in all my vacation selfies.
That necklace isn't just some trinket. It's not only a reminder to me that I have a friend who is suffering, but also that I have a friend who cared so much about mine. Facebook friend, "real" friend. Whatever. It's a daily reminder to think about someone besides myself, even if just for a moment to adjust the clasp. It's not one of my best qualities, but I often need that physical reminder to wake me up from the cloud of self-involvement that hovers over me, stopping me from being a selfless person.
It's been over a year. I send her notes every now and again, through Facebook and the physical ones I made in honor of my sister through snail mail. She says she enjoys them. I try to remember to do it more often, but life gets in the way and distracts me from what is important. I also love to write, but hate the physical act of holding a pen. Everyone is a work in progress. This is part of mine.
She keeps reading my blogs. She private messages me often and tells me that I HAVE to write her eulogy. She makes me promise.
I say, "well, I would, but you keep refusing to die."
This makes her laugh. I've said it to her more than once, and now I don't bat an eyelash when I say such things. Because Jen and I have a stronger connection than Facebook and 30 years from Parsons JHS, Queens might suggest.
Last week, as I'm traveling alone throughout Bulgaria, I have a restless night where I can't sleep. And when I really can't sleep, my mind invents things to be worried about. I don't even remember what it was, but I was freaking out. Alone. But Jen was online, and SHE was the one I felt comfortable talking to about it in that moment. She listened, she made suggestions, and supported me. In a really "real" way.
Facebook friend? "Real" friend? The line is not as clear as people make it out to seem if you really think about it.
All I know is that if this is the kind of impact Jen's had on me online, I can't even imagine what it must be like to have her as a "real" friend. I know they must feel what I feel to a power of 10.
When my dad turned 70, for his birthday, I wrote him a list called "70 reasons (why I love him)" and read it to him on his birthday. He says it was the best gift he's ever received, because it validated his existence as a father and as a person.
It was one of the best ideas I'd ever had, and I'm so glad I'm not going to have a future where my dad is dead and I lament never taking the opportunity to tell him what he means to me. I didn't ever get the chance to do that for my sister. I barely told her anything. And it fucking sucks, and it's never going to change. It's too late.
No one should have to wait until the afterlife (is there one?) to learn about how special someone thinks they are.
So, Jen, this is my eulogy. I'll read it at whatever funeral or service you've undoubtedly already arranged for yourself, but I'd like to remind you once again, that your bitch ass just refuses to die. So in the meanwhile, maybe you'd like to read a first draft.
Besides, what I'm the one to go first? I don't even know if you can write AT ALL.
____
Jen Freed-Angiletta, you were a force to be reckoned with and I am honored and blessed to call you my friend. I am surely not alone.
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