Once upon a time, grief was a quiet affair. A sombre nod at a funeral, perhaps a black tie and some Battenberg cake in a draughty hall. These days, however, mourning is incomplete without a Facebook montage of blurry photos, Coldplay lyrics, and a candle emoji for Great Uncle Derek, who once waved at you in 1997.
We are now firmly in the age of the Heavenly Birthday. A peculiar tradition whereby we send digital birthday wishes to the dead, as if they’re scrolling through Instagram in the great beyond, tapping “like” on every photo of your afternoon latte.
“Happy 98th Birthday, Nan,” someone will post, alongside a picture of Nan scowling at a trifle in 1984. “Miss you every day. Hope you’re partying up there.” Yes, because if the afterlife exists, Nan is no doubt raving in the clouds with Elvis and your old Labrador, Buster, who also receives yearly updates. “Can’t believe it’s been five years since you left us, boy. Still expect to see your waggy tail when I come home. 🐾🌈💔.” The dog, tragically, was largely indifferent to birthdays while alive.
But death isn’t the only trigger for public soul-baring. Social media is now the de facto confessional, therapist, and town crier. The bar for “important life events” is so low it’s underground.
“Felt sad today. Not sure why. Just thought I’d share.”
Thanks, Karen. We’re all so glad to know. Here’s a GIF of a raccoon hugging a kitten to soothe your existential dread.
Then there are the teenagers. Not the ones doing anything remotely newsworthy—no, just the ones existing in public, which seems to outrage precisely three types of people: Daily Mail readers, neighbourhood Facebook group admins, and anyone whose name ends in “-ice.”
“Saw a group of youths hanging about outside the Co-op. No idea what they were up to. Just loitering. Thought I’d warn people.”
What terrifying menace did they pose, Denise? Did they… buy crisps?
Let us not forget the commemorative hashtags for pets, the TikTok montages for relationships that lasted six weeks, and the oddly inspirational posts about overcoming the trauma of one’s Deliveroo arriving cold.
Perhaps the pinnacle of this phenomenon is when people post:
“Don’t want to talk about it. Just need space.”
Right. So you’ve announced your desire for silence to a few thousand acquaintances, who now feel obliged to comment, “Here if you need me, hun ❤️.” (They are not here. They are on mute.)
It’s all terribly moving, of course, in the same way that watching someone argue with a vending machine is moving. There is drama. There is loss. There is snack-based despair. But mostly, there is the overwhelming sense that our emotional lives have become curated exhibitions for a gallery of strangers.
So here’s to another year of #HeavenlyBirthdays, #GoneButNotForgottenLuluTheHamster, and that kid who dared sit on a wall with his hood up. The world may be burning, but by God, someone needs to know it’s Auntie Brenda’s deathiversary.
