EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the inaugural column for Salem Reporter by Lynelle Wilcox, who works with unhoused people in Salem. She will be writing about the people she meets, the issues she faces.

A friend died recently. Tony been sick for a short while, and his girlfriend created a Facebook chat group for sharing news, resources, support, and friendship with his friends who knew each other and his friends who did not know each other.

And agnostic or not, we each prayed for a miracle. As the miracle failed to come, we grew to know slices of each other, in the connectedness of a mutual friend. I know many people hate Facebook, but I love the connection it enables across time and miles.

Yes, we’re the product, so I get to see ads that show how well and how unwell Facebook knows me. Sometimes those ads show prettiness that exists in the world, available for me to buy or just look and smile. Sometimes those ads show things I’d never want, and it’s still a smile to know that tons of money and fancy algorithms cannot wholly know us. We are bigger than that.

Yet being the product and seeing some ads are the price of admission for easy and broad connection with people I rarely see, yet care for deeply. And across time and miles, on the rare times we’re in person, connection feels so often like it picks up where we left off. Partly because this stupid, ad-laden, annoying, commercialized Facebook thing let us see and share what matters to us, along the way of our lives, across time and miles.

And in life, and even in death, I am so grateful for all of that. And if I ever meet my friend’s girlfriend, I will feel like I already know her because Facebook let her share their hope and hope lost, and the dreams and dreams lost, and the love they shared, and his last weeks and hours and moments.

And it’s not fair and he was too young, and they had just found love this year, and we all expected to be able to hang out with him again sometime.

And being there through a Facebook group chat through life or death can’t be the same as being there, and yet it’s so much more-ness than nothing. And in the more-ness, some friendships happened. His girlfriend provided care and comforts so he could die warm and safe in her home, as she wrapped him in love as he died, with friends near and far with her and with him, across time and miles. 

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Lynelle Wilcox - Special to Salem Reporter

Lynelle Wilcox has served people experiencing homelessness in Salem for six years - initially volunteering at warming centers and homeless events. As people shared their stories through the years, she saw how much a smile and hello can create commonality, connection, and sometimes hope. And hope can change everything. She writes about some of the things she’s learned along the way, and shares some of the stories. She adores her kids, and loves vivid colors, cats, happy clothes, music, cooking, skies, dogs, and daisies.