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On Death

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Response To Person Grieving For Friend Might Be Best Internet Comment Of All Time. She's Still Dying on Facebook. It’s been five years since my best friend from high school died, but her death happens over and over online.

She's Still Dying on Facebook

I’ve been obsessed with Lea’s Facebook profile since January 2006, when she joined, just a month after I created my own account. In high school, we had a consuming friendship—together we did things we’d never do alone, like skinny-dip in Lake Michigan while rolling on Ecstasy. In summer, our sleepovers lasted weeks. At 1 a.m., we’d sneak out and trudge through the woods to a field, where we smoked cigarettes and got blackout drunk on wine stolen from our mothers. We talked a lot about getting wasted and breaking out of dead-end northern Michigan; anthems of small-town girls. The science of human decay: Inside the world's largest body farm. Warning: this story contains graphic images Seven miles northwest of San Marcos, Texas, 50 or so naked human bodies in varying stages of decomposition are strewn about in a 16-acre field.

The science of human decay: Inside the world's largest body farm

Some are fully mummified, their flesh dried out by the harsh Texas sun. Others have been picked over so voraciously by vultures that their bones are frayed. The most lurid are the fresh ones: week-old bodies that have ballooned to twice their normal size and crawl with thousands of maggots. This operation, at a place called Freeman Ranch, is part of the Forensic Anthropology Center at Texas State University. The bodies are donated and left out in the elements as part of research aimed at better understanding the process of decomposition, mainly to assist in criminal investigations. "What we really want to figure out is, at a basic level, how decomposition works," says Daniel Wescott, an anthropology professor at Texas State and the director of the body farm. So he started collecting bodies. Click to view. Photos Bodies uncorrupted. So I wrote this song thinking about the guy I... - Annelise's Notebooks.

I lost someone this week, and the greatest words... - Annelise's Notebooks. The Secret Life of Grief - Derek Thompson. Someone laughed. It might have been my sister, dad, grandmother, or one of the dozen friends and family members arrayed around that bed in my parents' room. Before we cried, said goodbye, and fanned out in separate cars to begin our private journeys of grief, something was said, at the moment she died, in a summer evening's half-light. And somebody laughed. Maybe it seems strange, but I like to remember it.

I come from a long line of mama's boys. Jewish mothers, however, will sooner cut off a pinky than apologize for cultivating religious devotion in their children. One day, when I was 8, my younger sister Kira got the hunch that mom was making stuff up. "Mom is not 27," she said, displaying the evidence, radiating with a cruel glee. The words shattered my dumb little ears. The rest of the story is a memory of other people's memories, but according to the folklore, I ran downstairs and hid in the basement. Psychologists call this drawn out period "anticipatory grief. " "Hmm. "Eleven. " My Father Died — Human Parts. Grief is not linear, and it is everywhere at adrienne maree, the luscious satyagraha. My friend charity died on july 8. she’d spent more than a month in a coma after a hit and run accident in ny. since she was hit i have been in a grief process, been of a community in a grief process. i visited her in the hospital, where a split happened. part of me knew, seeing her on full life support, that she was not there and would not be back. another part of me felt numb, hungry, thirsty. another part bucked up with an obstinate hope, because something was filling up the room, and it felt like an aspect of her, and she was a genius and if anyone could figure this out she could. i imagined her telling stories about it. i have been sitting with the complications of knowing her, the mysteries, the struggles, the differences, the unfinished conversations, the respect of her spirit, the awe of her mind. where do these big things fit between two people trying to do a piece of work together, through the daily tasks of justice, each one so small?

grief is not linear, and it is everywhere at adrienne maree, the luscious satyagraha

I’m trying. sort of. so. Grieving With Fandom — Human Parts. "My Dad Died" Tales Of Mere Existence. "Waiting For Life To Begin" Tales Of Mere Existence. Louis CK animation short. Dead and online: What happens to your digital estate when you die? HARI SREENIVASAN: Do you have an email account?

Dead and online: What happens to your digital estate when you die?

How about a Facebook page? Bank online? Shop online? Pay your gas, light, or cable TV bill over the internet? I’ve just laid out more than a half-dozen accounts that many of us have, likely each with its own password. These accounts don’t die with us. Take the case of Glenn Williamson, a tech entrepreneur in Portland, Oregon. GLENN WILLIAMSON: I was in the Philippines speaking at a conference and, you know, when your phone goes off 15 times and it’s 3:00 in the morning in the United States, you have a bad feeling. HARI SREENIVASAN: Glenn’s 73-year-old mother Lee had died. You Can Delete, but You Can't Forget - Jacqui Shine. I erased all of my mother's emails after she died.

You Can Delete, but You Can't Forget - Jacqui Shine

I want them back. The morning after I found out that my mother had died, I did something that I still don’t entirely understand: I searched through my Gmail inbox for all of her emails and deleted every one. I erased her, or that’s what it felt like, and I know that’s what I wanted, because I remember very clearly that instead of just clicking “empty trash,” I selected them all so that I could click the button that said “Delete forever.”

This was seven years ago. For a long time I didn’t even think about the emails, much less miss them.