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Jakob died yesterday

Jakob had been back in the hospital for a couple weeks following another collapse, but he had been doing better and there was hope that he could move to a nursing home. So, I wasn’t prepared when I got a Facebook message from his sister yesterday. She told me that he had gotten much worse, unable to eat, speak, or recognize people. The hospital gave him morphine for pain and called her, saying they thought the end was near. He died in his sleep before she could get there.

I’ve been anticipating this day for the past year, since he was diagnosed with stage IV stomach cancer that had already metastasized to his brain, and I’m glad he’s at peace. That didn’t stop me from curling in a ball and wailing as my husband hugged me in silent comfort. I said a few words to his sister in broken German and I’ll write her a proper condolence note today. Poor woman… she is overwhelmed and dreads the tasks of burying her brother and cleaning out his home. I feel terrible that I just mailed Christmas cards to her house for her and for him.

Me? I’m blogging because I am too heartbroken to go to sleep. This is my eulogy for him.

Talking at Armenelos

Today, December 10th — as it’s just past midnight — is the 3rd anniversary of the day I met Jakob Aulder in Second Life and we were inseparable from that first encounter. He was a difficult man to get to know. His profile warned off questions about Real Life and for the first year whenever I asked one, he’d reply with, “Does it matter?” When I said, “No, but I’m curious,” he would insist that he wasn’t interesting to talk about, because he already knew about himself. Stubborn, that one.

Jakob never learned how to use most features of the SL viewer, he hated exploring unless I scouted places first and teleported him, and he had only two outfits in SL: a pirate costume and swim trunks. He loathed dress codes and thought they were ludicrous in a virtual world. So, every day, he was my pirate. I’d dress as a wench or captain now and then to make him laugh. No matter how often I changed clothes or switched between avatars, he was constant.

GSI - browsing

He was bull-headed and grumpy, but he was unconditionally loving, too. He helped me through some difficult times with his simple, no-nonsense coaching. We both altered our sleep schedules so we could chat twice a day, every day: on his lunch break and before he went to bed. We watched Formula 1 races together, sitting on a couch in SL while each watching television in our RL homes. He directed me through German exercises via Skype and I read him a couple of German books, chapter by chapter, in recorded MP3s. Though he was already very ill when we spent two weeks together in Bavaria this spring, and the visit was terribly hard, I’m grateful we got to have it.

Quiet morning

We joked about his awful taste in music, but he was an ardent supporter of a few talented independent female artists. He was mad about Vienna Teng and Rachel Sage, trying to see them perform whenever they appeared within driving distance of his home in Germany. He liked when I sang for him.

The man behind the avatar was 64 years old, but the nearly two decades between our ages rarely felt like a gap. He was an artist, a pacifist, and an atheist who appreciated Buddhist philosophy, though he will be buried in a Christian cemetery near his father. His last RL partner passed away a few years ago and he is survived by no children.

Armenelos ocean view

Jakob had a standard SL account, so I suppose it will sit there until the Lindens archive it for inactivity. How long does that take nowadays? A year or more? I suppose his sister will archive his Facebook account but I’m sure he didn’t leave her his SL login. So he will remain, offline in my Friends list, until the Lindens take him away forever. I’m sure I’ll cry again then, too.

Sweet dreams, Jakob. May you be in a place with great wine and Asian food, cheesy music, and a TV channel with round-the-clock soccer and auto racing. I hope you knew you were loved until the end, no matter what. Om shanti, shanti, shanti.

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Posted by on December 10, 2015 in Relationships

 

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My hardest online to RL transition

I’ve been meeting people in the physical world that I first encountered online since 1989, when some of my closest friends came out of a random topic BBS at my university. So, I’m not new to it and I assume that few of you are, either. We know the basics of managing expectations, nailing down make-or-break details, keeping safety in mind, etc. Every time I meet someone new in this way, I’m used to the short time of awkwardness as physical and online selves blend to form a new image of the other person.

Meeting Jakob was my most difficult transition so far. (For anyone new, Jakob has been my closest companion in the virtual world Second Life for more than two years. Six months ago he was diagnosed with stomach cancer that metastasized to his brain. He has had surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy since. This trip was planned long before his illness was detected.) I was certainly not at my best when we were together because I was distraught and stressed; it wouldn’t be fair if I said critical things about him without saying that I was whiny, petulant, angry, evasive, and temperamental. When I met him, I had just finished a 2.5 week trip with my husband that was tiring but fun, reinforcing what an excellent partnership we have and how well we work together. I really wanted to go home. Jakob had just gotten out of the hospital and I felt like I was fulfilling an obligation to assist him on the trip; it was not for my enjoyment in any way and I dreaded it. I was terribly afraid that he would have a health crisis and I had some simmering resentment because he refused to change plans to have a trip with less effort — closer to his doctors and in a hotel instead of a rental apartment, for example.

It snowed on our trip, too.

It snowed on our trip, too.

We met at a train station near Jakob’s home and I was already stressed: he hadn’t replied to my emails asking where to meet, so I hauled my suitcase around and tried to make hesitant eye contact with any man who vaguely resembled the pre-illness photo I had seen. I sent worried texts. Finally, I spotted a little old man wearing a soft colorful beanie like I had sent Jakob when he began chemo. Oh, that was him. I was shocked. The illness and treatment have made him look decades older than he is. (The next week, he showed me a gallery of photographs from the last few years and the difference in his appearance is so terribly sad.) This little man was shaky and confused, wearing clothing several sizes too large, and he didn’t recognize me at first, either.

Our bad start continued to get worse. Chemo left Jakob with a lot of confusion, which increases when he’s tired and when his blood sugar is too high or low. He lost the ticket from the parking garage, causing a minor crisis until, unsurprisingly, it was located in the pocket of his pants. He put the GPS into demo mode and didn’t understand me — I was driving — when I protested that the screen didn’t match where we really were, I didn’t know where to turn, and I couldn’t figure out a German GPS system at 90 mph on the autobahn. Plus it was raining. And there was lots of construction. A drive that was expected to take four hours took more than six, and when we arrived, it was too late to go to a restaurant or market. I went into the bathroom, shut the door, and wept with exhaustion and stress.

By the second day, my reserves of patience and compassion were gone. So was the worldly and opinionated Jakob I had known, replaced by a frequently confused, babbling, stubborn man who criticized me when I wanted to read, use the Internet, or turn on the television. He used to hate to talk about himself. Now that was all that he did. On one hand it was nice; I learned things about him that I had never known. However, it was the sort of self-involvement that hijacked any conversation and in his confusion he told the same stories over and over. If I didn’t react with interest every time, he was annoyed. All of his choices were self-centered, as well. He might ask what I wanted, but he would immediately ignore it.

—–

Now…. I must pause here. If I was my normal self — not shocked, exhausted, and homesick — I would have adapted more quickly. I wasn’t. I just wanted to run away. I lost my appetite and by the third day, I clearly had a cold, too. I got very little sleep the next two nights because I couldn’t breathe or stop coughing. (Germany, wtf is up with the Apotheke? Extract of thyme won’t help much with a bad cold. I wanted some damned Robitussin. Jakob said it was because of universal insurance; things we expect over-the-counter in the US require a doctor’s visit and a prescription in Germany. I don’t know if that’s true. However, when I could barely breathe and I discovered that the Apotheke had given me herbal remedies, I swore a lot. Oh, and btw, they didn’t do a damned thing. I was sick for the rest of my trip.)

Jakob and I eventually reached an equilibrium.I care about him; we have been close for two and a half years and I feel awful that he is suffering from this terrible illness and the even more destructive treatment. It is tragic. He repeatedly insisted that the surgery, radiation, and chemo had killed his cancer, and that he only needs a few more chemo sessions and then he will get stronger again. I smiled and nodded quietly each time. “Oh really? That’s good to hear.” Meanwhile, I knew from his sister that his hospital discharge paperwork said he had a new brain tumor and that his liver and spleen had been damaged by chemotherapy.

—–

Before we met in person, I knew Jakob was stubborn, sometimes argumentative and difficult. What I discovered was that if anyone tried to give him advice or say he shouldn’t do something because of his health, he would reject it immediately. Everyone was “just trying to control” him, and the hospital and nursing staff only wanted to keep treating him for the money. I bit my tongue a lot.

In many ways, the mental changes Jakob had from chemo turned him into my 98 year old grandmother. The repeated personal stories from the past, confusion with modern technology, minor paranoia, and not really listening to anyone else. They’re both greedy with food; for my grandmother that is from a lifetime of denying herself treats, for Jakob it was excitement that he could taste things again after a few weeks away from chemo. Once, he insisted that I tuck leftover sugar and coffee creamer into my purse when we left a cafe. He would get obsessed with something like a piece of lint on his shirt, ignoring everything around him. They both have crazy health theories, like when Jakob speculated that I caught a cold from drinking tap water. Is that so different from my grandmother’s insistence that when you hiccup, a drop of blood falls from your heart? (To where, I have no idea.)

I’m so unthinkingly polite that I automatically apologize to inanimate objects when I bump into them. I was aghast at some of Jakob’s rude behavior and I don’t know whether it was caused by his illness or not. (I’ve omitted specifics because I don’t want to paint a negative picture of him that could be the result of chemo fog, but I was offended and disgusted.) Jakob thought I was overreacting. I also discovered that he was a smoker; he only smoked once while we were together, but I would not have made plans to spend two weeks with someone who smokes. It’s not judgment — smoke what you want — but I can’t stand the smell and it wouldn’t be fair to either of us.

This wasn’t my vacation. We did get to do some sightseeing, but with me doing all the driving, guarding him from falls on uneven pavement, rushing to pay when he got confused (couldn’t recognize his bank card or paid the wrong amount), and struggling to understand things with my mediocre German because he couldn’t always help explain. Some days were better than others. Some were awful. I did his laundry and reminded him to bathe, did almost all of the cooking and cleaning and carrying, and tried, with mixed results, not to complain about it often.

—–

I was afraid of the responsibility of Jakob’s illness before the trip and that fear was justified. I was surprised to learn that he has had Type 1 diabetes for more than 20 years; something he never told me, so I had assumed his problems with blood sugar regulation were treatment-induced diabetes. Nope. He’s insulin dependent and it became my job to give him pancreas enzyme pills before meals and remind him to check his glucose level regularly. He refused to moderate his diet in any way, popping candies into his mouth like, well, candy, and drinking wine or beer with lunch and dinner every day. As a result, his levels were over 600 once (it took more than a day for him to recover from that), over 400 a few times, and often in the 250-350 range. If I dared to suggest that he change what he was eating, he’d go off on a rant. In the final week, he began having blood sugar crashes every night. I’d hear him get up and I’d join him at the dining room table, where his blood sugar would measure in at 40-60. He’d gobble some gummi candies and I’d get him to eat something more substantial, like yogurt or pudding, to round out the sugar spike. Once his numbers were normal, we could go back to sleep.

On the final Monday night of the trip, I woke to a crash and whimpering. Jakob was sitting in his open suitcase on the bedroom floor, wide-eyed and shaking. He didn’t respond when I called his name or waved my hand in front of his eyes. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed candy, and fed him until he was coherent enough for me to get him to the table. I handed him his blood sugar kit and he nodded, zipped it up, and carefully packed it away again. I had to make him eat more sweets before he could understand and operate his glucose meter, and his levels then were in the low 60s. If he had been alone, that crash could have been catastrophic.

Then there was the final night we were together. Jakob had already been awake with a sugar crash at midnight, and he woke with another one around 4:00am, but it was accompanied by severe abdominal pains. He ate all of the sweets that remained in the house but his blood glucose level would not rise, measuring repeatedly between 60 and 80. He started eating the only useful thing we had left, sugar cubes, but his level stayed low. For two hours he moaned in pain until he finally called the medical emergency number. The EMT examined him quickly and called an ambulance. We were at the hospital by 7:30. They gave him some painkillers, scanned his abdomen, and waited for a huge fax of information from his doctors, but ultimately his pain faded and they could not identify the cause.

—–

Some people are born caregivers; I am not. I’m not naturally compassionate and when I’m helping someone in a stressful situation, I tend to be cold, practical, and glum rather than warm and encouraging. At the end of the trip, I was relieved to go home. I had a physical sensation of anxiety releasing its grip the next day.

Jakob matters to me, and now that we are both separated by thousands of miles again, our emails and chats are affectionate and pleasant. He and his family are grateful that I helped him have a vacation, and he was so pleased to eat normal food and go for walks, things he hadn’t done in six months. Today he had chemotherapy again. It’s a new combination of chemicals and he’s hoping it won’t rob him of his renewed energy and sense of taste. I’m not optimistic, but I say, “I hope so too”, and “We’ll see”.

I don’t know what it would have been like to meet him in RL before he was sick. I could speculate, but there is no way to know, so that’s a dead end. He’d like me to visit again. I told him how expensive that is and the practical reasons why I can’t make any promises. I left out any emotional reasons.

He’s back to living alone in his apartment now, with his sister checking on him when she can. I’m haunted by the image from one morning on vacation when he woke before me and decided to be nice and make breakfast. When I got up, there were two heat-and-serve rolls sitting in the cold oven and Jakob was standing next to the stove, where a burner glowed bright red with nothing on it. He was too confused to understand that he had turned the wrong dials, and slightly upset when I gently pushed him out of the kitchen before he burned himself or set something on fire. I don’t want him deprived of his freedom if he can take care of himself, but I’ll be nervous between messages for the foreseeable future.

 
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Posted by on June 2, 2015 in Relationships

 

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Tragedy, helplessness, and the stupid stigma of online relationships

[I updated this post on 5 December; more news at the bottom of the text]

This is a long, deeply personal post about a tragic twist in an online relationship. You might have read part of this story on another blog (many thanks to the friend who let me express myself when I needed release). Since this blog is not really anonymous and I’m writing about other people too, I’ll gloss over some details here.

I’m sharing this for a mix of reasons. First, to talk about some of the issues unique to online relationships, which are interesting on an intellectual and practical level.  Also, to ponder ways that others could avoid similar problems. And finally, because I’m heartbroken and need to talk; I don’t want to overwhelm my husband’s listening capacity and some of my other friends are narcissistic assholes who can’t hear, “my arm was cut off,” without immediately launching into a melodramatic 30-minute monologue about a paper cut they once had.

My dear friend is gravely ill, in the hospital in Germany, and there are so many unknowns that I could scream.

— The Relationship —

My Second Life partner Jakob and I have been close for two years now.  He’s a night owl in Germany, I’m a morning person in the US, so our schedules overlap strangely well. I sip coffee and chat with him during his lunch break, then we spend an hour or two together before he tumbles into bed for the night. Other than my husband, he’s my closest friend. We watched every Formula 1 race and some World Cup games together, our physical TVs tuned to the events while our avatars sat together and chatted in our home in SL.

wc_semi_2014

Unlike many SL relationships, we chose to connect beyond the virtual world. We Skype weekly so I can practice my German. We sent Christmas presents to each other and we’re connected with our real identities on Facebook. It was very exciting to plan my trip to Europe next spring: two and a half weeks of sightseeing with my husband, then two weeks of visiting Jakob face-to-face.

This has been a transformational friendship for me. Jakob met me (in the body of my alt) at a time when I was hurting from a friendship that ended badly, stressed with my academic work, and aching with health problems. I had separated my personality into two avatars on SL: my alt in the photo above that I used for escape, who was cute and sweet and carefree; and Kay, serious and academic and cold. Jakob met my alt but when I eventually “introduced” him to Kay, he broke through the walls I had built up there, too. He helped me integrate the two sides of my personality again. He encouraged me to keep pushing for medical answers, which led to my diagnosis of hip dysplasia and an early hip joint replacement that has given me back a lot of mobility. He helped me focus on peace and simplicity, avoiding drama and judgmental people. The changes that have come from this relationship have made my home life happier, improved my health, and focused my mind, which usually bounces around like a Super Ball.

Jakob is no more social than I am. I’m reluctant to write personal things about his background because that is his story, not mine. It is enough to say that he experienced deep grief a few years ago, entered SL because of the graphics and stayed because it was possible to interact with less stress or effort than offline. He never talked much about his life; he’d tell me that it was boring, he already knew about himself. However, we talked about everything from deeply intellectual topics to utterly silly, goofy jokes. We’re not children. I’m in my mid-40s and he’s older, and we developed a deep and meaningful bond.

— The Illness —

In early November, I noticed tiny changes in Jakob’s online behavior. He was always meticulous about correcting typos even if they were very easy to understand. Now, a mistake went unnoticed here and there. His impressive Germanic punctuality slipped: he was often a few minutes late and he fell asleep and missed our evening chat a couple times. We blamed it on the change from Daylight Savings Time. In hindsight and with automatic chat logs, I can see that he started becoming less expressive by the middle of the month. It was a small change — more non-verbal replies like “mmmmm” or “yessssss” or “hugs” — that I attributed to him being tired in the gloom of Autumn.

Then, two weeks ago, there was a huge change. That night as we chatted, his responses often contained gibberish or missing words, such as replying to “how are you?” with “I am tonight.”  More than 90% were non-verbal. I don’t say 90% as a guess. I say 90% because I’m a social scientist by training and I analyzed the chat logs. There was also a distressing change in his behavior, a sexual approach in a way that just wasn’t appropriate or normal for our relationship. I found it upsetting and stopped him. He apologized. He never apologizes. I told him I was worried about his lack of communication. When he signed off, things were awkward and confused between us.

A few things flashed through my mind. Was this someone else using his account? No… even his non-verbal replies were his distinctive expressions. Was he being a jackass? No. I’ve seen him grumpy and we’ve had small fights, but this was different. I went to the web and researched aphasia.

It didn’t take long for me to guess that he was experiencing expressive aphasia, difficulty speaking and writing though comprehension may be undamaged. The next morning, when his chat was again full of nonsense words, I asked Jakob directly if he thought he might have had a stroke. He said that he didn’t know. Over the next couple of days, there was some improvement in his ability to type but he continued to substitute meaningless words. We determined that he couldn’t see the mistakes: he thought his sentences were correct even when a word like “holyst” was used instead of “place”. I suggested that we use German instead, but he kept replying in broken English/gibberish.

I don’t know much about Jakob’s work, but at this point, I realized that I was probably the only person having extended conversations with him and noticing the problem. I told him I was concerned. By Saturday, as his ability to express himself improved a bit but his mistakes lingered, I begged him to see a doctor. He said he would go the following week. Though I was deeply concerned, spending sleepless nights worrying about him, I knew one reassuring thing: Monday was his birthday. He would see his family for a meal. If there was something wrong, surely they would push or take him for medical attention.

Or maybe not.

The day after his birthday, I got a morning email from him. “I am problame … riding on idoty … hopefily it mogdithy … sigh … so many problems .”  He had some computer problems the week before, but it was unclear if he was talking about that or health problems or whatever. He didn’t come online.  That evening he emailed that, “I will go to slape today” and he didn’t come online.

The next morning: “Moment to plill problem … I go to publick again today … will you problem when I am better.” Later he explained that he was now in the hospital and could not talk much: “.. i am in krankenkaus werde behandelt. … kann nicht viel reden. .. miss you a litt … send you more when i feel better…”

That was 8 days ago. Since then, I have gotten one or two emails a day, 5-15 words each, probably sent from his cell phone.

  • 7 days ago: ” nothing better … will stard more”
  • 6 days ago: ” will get coperaty the monday  … then  see. .. soo difficult  to  write  … sigh”
  • 5 days ago: “… waiting  the  weekend”
  • 4 days ago:  “… I slept  well … I hope  you too  … they  will  controll  me  tomorrow how  to  care  … will be  nice to  feel  better  with  you  again talking”
  • 3 days ago: “… I had check  … will  see  what  is  reason “
  • 2 days ago: “Es ist nicht einfach für mich zu reden … morgen erfahre ich wahrscheinlich was zu reparieren ist und wie und wo. Ich freue mich immer auf deine Schrift.” (roughly: It is not easy for me to talk. Tomorrow I find out what it takes to fix it and how and where. I always look forward to your writing.)  Then later, tragically, ” lch wünsche   es wird heilbar und kein vernichtender Krebs … es   ist  schlimm  … du  fehlst mir.”  (roughly again: I hope it is curable and not devastating cancer. It is bad. I miss you.)
  • Yesterday: “… i feel not  better … do not  know how  to  repair  it now  … i am  sad  … missing you so much ” and ” i am still in Krankenhaus and very sick  … very unhappy”

I have not heard from him in 24 hours.

Feel that? That’s my heart ripping into pieces like plastic stuck in a paper shredder.

— What Can I Do? —

Many times in the past week, I’ve had to stop, reread an email that I was writing to Jakob, and then edit it. He doesn’t need to hear about my heartbreak and anxiety. I’ve tried to keep the focus on his health and comfort.

But this is my space and I’m fucking frustrated. I want to know what is happening with my dear friend. I want to know which hospital he is in. I want to know what tests his doctors have done. I want to know his diagnosis and prognosis. I want to know if his family is visiting him every day. I want to know if they will pick up the Christmas package I mailed last week and take it to him in the hospital. I want to know if he will be himself again. I want to know if he is dying. I want to know anything.

I could try to contact his sister. She once viewed my profile on LinkedIn, so maybe Jakob told her about “a friend” and enough specifics that she could find me. He was surprised by it and a bit skeptical, so I’m sure he did not intentionally reveal that he had a relationship that started in a virtual world. I’ve thought long and hard about this. I know that Jakob didn’t think his family would understand, so I will not push myself into their lives at this difficult time. That would be selfish. If he wanted them to contact me, he could give them my email address. I need to let that be his choice.

I’ve considered another form of information fishing via Facebook. I could post to his FB wall asking “him” if he was ok. Maybe one of the cousins who are connected there would have information and would share it with me. It just feels wrong to do that.

Consider it karma, divine retribution, bad luck, or coincidence, but this particular group of circumstances is incredibly cruel. Jakob cannot express himself or tell me what is happening. Because it is a “secret” online friendship, I can’t contact his family out of respect for his wishes. His health collapsed right around his birthday and at the holiday season.

I’ve also considered going to Germany to be with him. Even before I looked at the prices for flights, my husband had done the research. About $1500 just for an economy ticket at this time of year, plus trains and a place to stay and food. Shit. We have some financial instability right now and that would be a very difficult amount for me. I asked Jakob directly, “Should I come? Would it help?” but I have not gotten a response. At first, I thought: Well, I’ll see him in May anyway, and if we spend those weeks at his home while he recuperates instead of relaxing in the mountains, that’s fine.  But now, I don’t know if it can wait that long. Let’s be frank: He’s been in the hospital for more than a week. They must have ruled out a stroke, hemorrhage, or clot in the early days with scans. I’m guessing that the test on Monday was a biopsy of a tumor they had found. (All speculation based on his notes above, but I think it’s a reasonable conjecture.) Sure, there are benign tumors or cancerous ones that can be slowed or temporarily removed, but nobody ever asks for a brain tumor for Christmas. Brain tumors are never good news.

I am reassured that he is in a country with a good medical system and that he has family nearby. Optimistically, I hope that he is getting excellent care and that people are treating him kindly.

I feel utterly powerless.

 — Learn From my Pain —

Many people who have been online for a while have already developed emergency systems, but let my experience be motivation if you haven’t. If people matter to you, they matter — it’s irrelevant whether you have physically touched or talked with voice or only communicated with text and pixels. Make sure you have a way for everyone you care about to be notified in case of emergency. Consider connecting trusted online and offline friends, through social media or other introductions.

It’s 2014. The stigma around online relationships is so tired and useless.

— Now What? — 

I don’t know. I’m sitting on the couch typing this, a snoring pit bull on my feet, with my husband telecommuting from a chair nearby. It sounds cozy and calm, but he went to the office this morning, then came back home because I was in tears when he left and he thought I might appreciate the company. I do.

I keep refreshing my Gmail inbox and I carry my phone with me constantly, the volume turned high. When Jakob first went into the hospital, I was able to relax and get some sleep. Now, with so much uncertainty and no replies to my notes… ARGH.

If you have some ideas, or advice, or hell, I’ll take some sympathy… leave a comment or contact me directly. Kay Jiersen in SL, or kayjiersen (at) gmail. I’m trying to do the right things but I’m neck-deep in the visceral emotions of the situation right now, so I know I don’t have the objective distance to think clearly.

come_home

Come home for Christmas, Jakob. Please.

— Updates — 

After writing this post, I had to concede that I’m not very good at interpersonal contact. I can study it, but I just don’t do it very well, myself. So, I listened to some of your advice. First I wrote to Jakob and told him that I would be writing to his sister if I didn’t hear from him by the next day. I asked him to please not be angry. I would appreciate that consideration if I were on the other side of the email.

Another night and morning went by with no note from Jakob. So, this morning, I broke through my own rules and contacted his sister. I found her on two social media sites and sent identical notes to both in broken German.

Becky and I talked briefly yesterday about all the little signs we look for in the digital world. For example, I can still see that Jakob’s phone is powered on and connected to a network, because he appears as “away” but not offline in Google Chat. A minute or so after I sent a Facebook note to his sister, I saw his FB account briefly online via mobile. Then, it was gone. I can speculate about that, but I really don’t know what happened.

 
9 Comments

Posted by on December 4, 2014 in Relationships

 

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