Life has so much more in store for you. Don't waste it.
In her profile picture, she smiles a Mona Lisa smile. A curtain of dark hair frames her face and her blue eyes hold a hint of mischief.
She’s beautiful, and I’ve become a Facebook stalker. I’m searching for the reason she died. How could events have unfolded like they did when just four years ago she was dancing at her own wedding?
I scroll past her profile and come across a picture of her on the beach, arms thrown wide, embracing the world. Wind whips long strands of hair around her face, half concealing it, but her joy is obvious.
In another picture, she walks toward a choppy ocean, dress flowing round her legs. I imagine her appreciation of the scene’s craggy beauty; her sensitivity. But maybe I’m reading more into it; letting my imagination fuel my thoughts.
Other pictures show her with friends, arms linked, frolicking with pets, toasting in restaurants, drinking wine, posing with family members. She had a sense of humor. Her posts are interspersed with funny memes and quips.
Here’s the wedding picture. Gorgeous! Her joy leaps out at me, vibrant and filled with promise. Her new husband, a big, handsome man, gazes fondly down at her.
There are more than a hundred “likes.” Somebody writes, “You’re a beautiful couple! Many wishes for a great future together!”
Somebody else says, “You two are perfect for each other! May you have a long and happy life!”
There’s one picture after the wedding. They are standing on a bridge. She smiles slightly at him, and he smiles for the camera. They look happy.
But that’s Facebook, isn’t it? We present one face to the world and hide our secrets. Did anyone ever say on Facebook, I am dying. Help me.
I scroll down further, searching. There is nothing to indicate her premature death; nothing that says, “I can’t go on. My world has come crashing down around me.” There are no tears shed in those rosy photographs.
Then her posts stop; nothing else to discover here.
Why am I so curious? I’m only a friend of the family. Can’t I let it go that she died and life has its tragedies?
But for some reason I can’t, so I click on his picture; the handsome man she married. The guy who says “Love of my life” under their photograph.
Facebook tells a Different Story
And his Facebook page tells another story. His profile picture shows him with a different woman, a tall, blonde girl equally as beautiful, only more flamboyant. There are pictures of him holding her, kissing her, dancing with her.
In one picture they are on the beach and he lifts her off her feet, even though she’s a big woman, almost as tall as he is.
There is no sign of the blue-eyed girl with the curtain of dark hair.
Her Facebook page still says “In a relationship.” Did she remain in denial?
His Facebook page has erased her. In one picture he says, “We’re engaged!” The blonde girl with her arm looped around him is laughing.
I want to say to the dark-haired girl, “Your life will go on. You have so much to offer.”
I find out later, through whispered comments, that it wasn’t only her husband who betrayed her. It was her best friend, too; the tall blonde.
“It was awful,” her aunt tells me. “She was devastated.”
I want to say, “You are more beautiful than you know. You’ll meet somebody else, and life will get better! Life is full of ups and downs; a journey of hardship and joy, of love lost and love gained. You’ll love again!”
I want tell her to hang in there. “Let a year go by! You can get through this!”
I want to say, “He’s not worth it. No one is.”
But it’s too late.
She Died of a Broken Heart
I wrote this following the funeral of my friend’s niece. I’m convinced she died of a broken heart, after her husband left her for her best friend. I had my heart broken too, years ago. Most of us have. Every day was a dark void to be endured; an end to hopes and dreams.
One night I sat alone in a restaurant, trying to choke down food. Clothes that used to be tight hung loose and shapeless. Food had no appeal, and I wondered how much more weight I could lose and still keep moving through the minutes and hours of every day and sleepless night.
Suddenly, when I had given up thoughts of eating, a middle-aged man walked over to my table. “He’s not worth it, whoever he is. But you are,” he said. Then he walked out of the restaurant and I never saw him again.
I finished my dinner. At some point in the days to come, a hint of daybreak swam through that dark and hopeless void. I chose life, and later found the love of my life.
If you are going through something similar, please wait. You’re worth so much more than you know, and life has so much more for you.
He’s not worth it, but you are.