Electronic Tombstones

Ronald BartelsRonald Bartels
4 min read

My wife used to say that often she would read about what I was thinking via something I had posted online instead of a personal conversation. Some things are easier to write about than to speak about. Something else my wife used to say is that I never took enough pictures of her and the children. I probably enjoy writing more than I do talking. That’s just me.

I have neglected writing when I changed jobs. My new boss never did encourage me to write and was very disparaging about journalists and Grandmasters on MyBroadband. MyBroadband (access it here) is the biggest technology site in South Africa and there should have been a better relationship with them!. I should not have paused. After all my name is on the board at Grey for Journalism. So I have started again and across multiple media!

On 17th August 2011 my wife passed away. Her wish was to be scattered to the four corners of the Earth. That is a difficult place to find on a map, so we selected three places in the Pilansberg and a koppie at the Norscot Koppies reserve. I also started writing a book, called the Second Corner of the Earth, which was a nod to her wish. Its a work in progress.

However, her facebook account remains as an electronic tombstone. I realized that when we go, all of that is going to remain is not our scattered ashes but our electronic presence. I started posting pictures of our sons and me online on a regular basis. Somehow it makes me feel that she can see them and smile down at us. I hope there are enough pictures for her to see! In addition, our house had been hit a few times by lightning. The hard disks were toast, which included our photos. The only ones that survived were the online ones. An example, is her favourite wedding picture (see above) which would have been gone had it not been posted online.

Social media has become toxic and can be debilitating. But if you see it as a scrapbook of life and scattered electronic tombstones, its context is different. Its memories, good and some even excruciatingly embarrassing. In reality, I’m writing it for myself and it provides enjoyment and purpose. If you just lurk on social media in a mindless scroll of other people’s content you brain slowly dies and becomes part of the Borg collective. And nothing screams Borg more than Tiktok that has assimilated a generation of mindless humans. If you create content and write yourself, then great, you mind will not shrink. You can even use some AI as a helper, its fine. The robots are not going to take over the world.

Many moons ago, I had a burden. I had been letting go the emotional ashes that the presence of her worldly possessions had created. The last thing I let go were her shoes. I was present when she went and the shoes were on a chair in the room outside under my jacket. During the past year, no-one had asked me what happened in those moments and what were her last words. I logged onto facebook and posted it on her electronic tombstone, her facebook account. It was the same release as when the shoes left, a burden I did not have to carry myself. BTW: the words were: "I don't know."

My dad is Hanoverian and my mom is from the clan Elliot. How my oupa John's family ended up in Oudtshoorn from the Scottish border is something on which I still need to do some detective work? Regardless, I am sure the genes are responsible for the appreciation of a good Scotch.

I never owned a kilt and Argyle jacket. Kath who was also Scottish would often suggest I go and buy one. It was one of those things that I would say yes and never get around to doing. The woman I loved died while I was standing next to her on a paramedic's stretcher. I crouched down with my hands over my head listening to the sounds of attempted resuscitation and defibrillation. When that happens you stare in the abyss of insanity.

Turning away from the abyss is not a single motion. It consists of a large number of small things. One of those was keeping the promise of getting that Scottish dress outfit. I went to Chris Mullender who imported the tartan from Scotland and a few months later it was ready.

Now on all smart occasions, I step out in the tartan of the clan Elliot.

PS: Babe, I hope you are still reading... (hope you have found this and know what I'm thinking!)



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Ronald Bartels
Ronald Bartels

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