I don’t actually know how Facebook decides what I like or what topics might be of interest. It’s understood there is some mysterious algorithm quietly running in the background, keeping track of everything I search for/click on/read on any website, anywhere. But really? How did it suddenly determine that I needed to see every post from “Past owners looking for horses, or current owners looking for past owners”? Yes, that’s a for-real Facebook group with over 76,000 followers, all of whom I’m certain have, at one time, owned a horse. Perhaps several horses.

I have never owned a horse. Or lost a horse. Or needed to identify a horse’s previous owner.

Those suggestions finally faded into a distant memory (one I have probably resurrected by searching for the group name for this blog [please insert an eye-rolling emoji here]). It was replaced by various groups dedicated to cats and their antics. I do have cats. I do not post about my cats (although I did write about Herman on a few occasions—perhaps that was my undoing). Those were fun to read but, for some reason unbeknownst to me, they were rapidly replaced by snake identification pages. And even though I clicked on the “I’m really not interested in this” button, and Facebook acknowledged my lack of concern regarding the identification of reptiles, I still get about 37 different offerings appearing on my feed every single day. It’s a wonder snakes aren’t chasing me through my dreams on a nightly basis, although one was waiting for me by the mailbox Tuesday evening . . . in the dark . . . Maybe I could post him to the “Tennessee Snake Identification and Education” page, just out of curiosity.

Now, sandwiched between the snakes and the “Weird and Wonderful Second-Hand Finds” (most of which are neither weird nor wonderful and many of which are not second-hand), I’m finding photoshop request pages. If it’s not “Free Photoshop Edits” or “Photoshop That” or “FREE PHOTOSHOP help, edits & requests” (yes, it’s really written like that), it’s any number of other pages designed to accomplish the same thing. Posters may want a damaged photo repaired, a blurry image sharpened, a person added or subtracted, depending on the circumstances. In other words, please create the perfect picture from a less than perfect beginning. 

One woman wanted her very casual clothing swapped for a collared shirt and jacket, with hair and make-up improved for her resume. One woman wanted her ex-husband removed completely from the picture along with the bouquet she was carrying. She liked the background and her dress, which didn’t necessarily scream bridal; he just needed to disappear. In more ways than one.

But then there was the bride who asked if someone could just give her mother a beautiful smile. Her teeth had been destroyed by stomach and pancreatic cancer, which had also left her frail and spent. Someone had taken a candid shot of the bride’s parents at her wedding reception, and she wanted to frame the picture for her father, but her mother’s smile was tight-lipped, and her body bent forward, a result of the terminal illness that afflicted her. Several kind souls blessed her with a smile that would have lit up the room, but one person went far beyond the request, not only gifting her with a smile that reflected her happiness on that day, but straightening her back as well, erasing any outward signs of the inward battle she was waging.

There were so many requests where family members wanted a deceased loved one added to a group shot, or holding a newborn member of the next generation, or changing something slightly so it could be the perfect memorial picture, and without fail, members of the group met the challenge. There was one, however, that was far more touching than the rest—and it came from a wife who wanted to give her husband a special gift. In a previous marriage he had a child—the only child he would ever have—a child who did not survive his birth. And there was only one picture—a picture not made under the best of circumstances since the child was born sleeping, his fragile skin still covered with the white, protective coating that is often present and usually cleaned away not long after birth. Could anyone remove that substance from his skin so he could have one good picture of his son who would have turned 30 this year?

The response was overwhelming and exceeded all expectations; not only did they give the infant flawless skin but many of them changed the background and the hospital blanket in which the child was swaddled so the picture resembled a modern-day newborn photograph. The efforts put forth for that one request were created with compassion and love—and I know appreciated by the man who eventually received the chosen picture.

The technology we have at our command is amazing and, it seems, often limitless in its abilities. But like any tool invented by humans, it can be used for both good and evil, and sadly, often is. How wonderful that, at least in these instances, it has allowed us to create treasures we can cherish forever. 

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.