Facebook is like the double-edged sword of social media. On the one hand, it can be the spreader of good news. Engagements, marriages, births, new pets, personal achievements/adventures, achievements/adventures of our children—these and so much more are splashed across Facebook with delightful abandon as folks tell the world of the events and people that bring them joy.
But it also serves as the bearer of all that is bad. Lost pets, lost people . . . sick pets, sick people . . . lost jobs and homes and goals and dreams, the devastations that afflict our everyday lives . . . and death. It is often on Facebook that the news of an expected death is announced. It is also the place where the unexpected departure of someone leaves us shocked and dismayed and heartbroken as the word begins to spread from page to page.
That has happened to me several times over the last month, the latest being the death of Lisa Adkins. Many of you may know her. Many of you may not. For those of you who didn’t have the pleasure, you missed a truly unique experience.
Lisa was the quintessential hippie, both in dress and demeanor, and although some might have described her as “quirky” or “unconventional”, without exception everyone who has commented on her sudden departure has used one word as they paid tribute to her life—kind. I don’t know if her empathy and compassion stemmed from past events or if she simply came that way, but without a doubt, kind is the description that suits her best. It is also the encouragement she most often posted on Facebook.
“Please be KIND because you never know what people are going through.” It was usually proceeded by a joyful “Good morning and happy (insert whatever day/holiday it was)” and accompanied by a picture of her in some random spot, doing some random thing.
Random spots and random things were kinda her vibe as a professional photographer and content creator. Both were passions that allowed her to travel and meet people from all walks of life. Her talents shaped her dreams, leading her to tell a close friend that she wanted to succeed. She wanted to make a difference. But, above all, she wanted to be kind. Oh, and did I mention she played the spoons? I don’t know how someone learns that skill, but she did it with a flair and pizzazz that few could equal, often appearing with numerous musical groups as their “guest spooner”.
There aren’t a great many truly free spirits in this world these days. So many of us seem to be bound by the conventions and norms that require behavior not at all suited to us, but that is deemed acceptable. The expectations of others may keep us from setting goals and following our dreams. They may dictate how we dress and how we think and how we express ourselves as we move through this life. Lisa Adkins was always unapologetically Lisa. And now the light she brought to this world is dimmed by her absence—an absence I’m sure she would not have chosen had she been given the option to stay. After all, her passion for life was overflowing and her desire to make a difference was the driving force in much of what she did. That and always, always showing kindness to everyone on the chance that someone, somewhere, was struggling with burdens she could not see.
