James: public grieving, "private" grief

James Kearney died today. I didn't know him. He was a playwright, a Columbia grad, an uncle, and--apparently--a pretty good friend to those who knew him.

The "blogosphere" is rapidly posting reflections on his brief life (he was 27 when he died) and how it is impacting those who knew him: see, for example, Unwelcome, Friends, He Died Today. Take a look at the comments, too.

Having written recently about spirituality and grief, I'm alert to new manifestations of grief--especially those shaped by emerging/popular culture. And James' death offers some insight into ways that today's technologically savvy folk are coping with loss.

The Internet allows those who choose to express "private" grief in fairly public ways--complete with photos, trackback links, and comments.

This is not the political grieving of the early to mid years of the AIDS pandemic, in which candlelight vigils and quilt displays became vehicles for public consciousness, education, and increased funding for medicine and research. This is not public grief related to the death of a public figure like Princess Diana, John Kennedy, or John Lennon.

This is private folk expressing their losses, and making meaning of them, in the midst of a vast, interconnected community.

The remembrances are pretty intimate, and it feels voyeuristic to look at the photos, read the depth of loss, and then see a later reflection on how "illegitimate" some of his friends feel their experiences of/reflections on death must be.

But it's pretty poignant stuff. I didn't even know him, and I'm sad James is gone. And there's a whole new community of folk who will be in my prayers today.


.: Posted by Duane Bidwell on Sunday, March 28, 2004

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Celebrating the thunder at the heart of the universe, Spondizo explores pastoral theology, spiritual formation, and the vocation of caring for each other and the whole of creation.

The site is written and published by Duane R. Bidwell, Ph.D.

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© 2004-2007 Duane Bidwell. All rights reserved. Photograph courtesy of Charles W. Cushman Photograph Collection, Indiana University Archives (P15776).