Dooced

Dude.

Dooce. I have so much to say. And I always say too much. 

Heather shined a light on the dark places, and I can't believe that light is extinguished. I just simply cannot believe that her voice is silenced. 

She was the narrator. 

The Pied Piper and Peter Pan. 

And over the last several years, I watched with deepening concern, and then dread, as her posts moved more towards something that felt scary and wild. Narrating life experiences that were raw and confusing and all too familiar. But then, a step beyond her usual irreverent and politically incorrect, boundary-breaking, filterless rants. And then another step. And another, It was dark and heavy. Angry, sometimes. Alarming at others. I had to look away. I had to hope that she was safe. After all, if this was what she was putting out onto the web, just a small sliver of her life, that life must be in absolute chaos offline.

What about the kids. I kept thinking about those kids. I (we all) watched those two glorious beings born and celebrated. We knew when they had colds, when they were potty trained, food aversions, habits and interests, talents and struggles. Changes. 

I knew they were safe because I knew they had Jon. But how could he shield them from the reality of what was unfurling. Unraveling. Unbelievable as it was unfolding - right there for all to see.

And yet I knew nothing and know nothing because all I know I learned online, through Heather's words and photos. A filtered, curated glimpse of a life I really knew nothing about. I am a stranger who in retrospect feels like I have spent 20 years peering through their window. A voyeur.

So I am just going to sit here and think about the weight and the light and the dark. 

The here and now and then and there. Jon. Leta. Marlo. and Heather at the center of a life I followed for so long, until I didn't. Until it got uncomfortable and hard and real. And then it wasn't all pretty pictures and madcap romps through life and love and religion and politics. As the loss edged closer and closer. 

I have one thing that I hope someone tells them: You could not have changed this outcome. You could not have predicted, or prevented. This is not your responsibility. This is certainly not your fault. 

Please, do not let it be your burden to carry. Set it down, now. Or let go of the string and let it fly away. Or untie the ropes and push it from you with all your might.

Set it on fire. Set it all on fire. And then, maybe, she will be free.