I lost a friend today. I’m heartbroken, yet I never met her, never spoke to her in person, never heard her voice until someone posted a video of her today–the day she died.
How often have you heard the question, “yeah you have hundreds of Facebook friends but how many would attend your funeral?” The point is how many of your so-called “friends” do you really know or have a real relationship with, or honestly care about, or think about even a second after you log off?
Facebook says I have 800+ friends, and I admit, there are many with whom I’ve never shared a moment face-to-face. Such was my relationship with Melissa Kitchens.
We had one common bond, and that was we were both former CNN employees, or should I say more properly, formerly employed by CNN but forever a member of the extended family the network became over the past 35 years.
Our paths never crossed during my 8 years in Atlanta or my 12 in Detroit, yet
through her Facebook posts I knew Melissa was religious, devoted to her mother, her loving companion Chuck, that she was vivacious, beautiful physically and spiritually. In her post-CNN life she created a successful catering business and became Sweet Melissa. I understood her pound cake to be legendary and kick myself for never ordering one. I discovered she ran audio for CNN and had a sharp sense of humor and sometimes drove the directors crazy with her drawl and jokes.
If she “liked” or commented on one of my posts I felt I had accomplished something by sparking such a magnificent person to notice it and document her pleasure or agreement with something I wrote.
When she kicked in our guts by posting she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer a breath left me and wondered why someone as perfect and pious and bright as Melissa was “rewarded” for all the good she brought to world with a scourge that would ultimately remove her from it.
“Pray for me,” she would post every time she went for an exam or another surgery or procedure. We did. We prayed for Sweet Melissa. I prayed for someone with whom I had only a virtual relationship but a visceral connection. It hurts the same as the loss of someone I would see every day in the office or in the neighborhood.
Tell me Melissa wasn’t a “real” friend and our friendship will end. You don’t know..or your arrogant..or you missed out.
Would Melissa attend my funeral had she outlived me? Who knows. I regret my business travel prevents me from attending hers, but no matter. That’s a false measure of friendship. Friendship is the elixir brewed by a combination of caring, concern, humor, empathy, sharing and affection. For Sweet Melissa, in her memory, my Facebook friend,  my real friend, I drink to you.