Comments

I was reading an article on blog comments last month. Unfortunately I can’t link to the article or copy and paste it for you, because I got half way through, stopped reading and moved on. It was an article written by a tech blogger informing me on why blog comments were redundant. I was going to write and ask the author about community and how he felt about sitting at his computer talking “at” people rather than “to” people, and then I remembered he was a tech blogger. And he didn’t like comments.

I’ve tried to find the article again but I haven’t had any luck, although in the process of looking I’ve found a few similar ones. Interestingly, all written by men, all stating the same issues, the main one being that comments just take up too much of their time. They all outline the arduous task of having to talk to someone who has a question and what a pain in the butt their audience can be when they start making demands. 

I realize that technical and business blogs are very different to news and personal blogs, but it got me thinking. I love reading comments, but I rarely comment myself. 

Waiting.

Waiting.

Nope. Safe. I thought the god of blogging may have just struck me down with my admission of sporadic commenting.

I can read something that is ground breaking and brilliant and not comment. Sometimes the better the piece, the more difficult I find it to comment, solely because I really can’t think of anything to say that hasn’t been said. Quite often I’ll start to write “when you said…” and then realize it all sounds a bit lame. When someone has written of deep personal loss and grief “thinking of you” or “one day at a time” or the absolute worst “hugsxxx” just doesn’t seem appropriate.

I had one of those moments today.

There was a piece on Mamamia today about a women who had lost her son to cancer. It was called “Learning to Live Again” the story may have been short, but its content was heartbreaking. It made me think of friends near and far, and the indescribable grief that comes with losing a child. I was wiping away the tears as I scrolled down to the comments and once again couldn’t think of what to say. And then I saw this from a reader:

The only comfort I can give you is this –
My wonderful daughter nurses children with cancer and she and the vast majority of her colleagues are in no doubt about there being something on the other side.
For a time before they pass, very often a child will ask who the person in the room is (when no-one is there) or they’ll tell you that grandpa is talking to them or that a little child with a bald head has kissed them on the cheek.
Some nurses can feel, and sometimes see, the spirit who has come to take these babies home. Some of them get used to it – others don’t last long!
My daughter wasn’t raised in a particularly religious home and during her teenage years she thought that when you die that’s it but the half dozen years she’s spent in this ward has convinced her that these babies are not alone when they pass – there is always someone who comes to take them home and she says that most of her colleagues would agree.
I know that this isn’t going to fill your empty arms or mend your poor heart but I hope it gives you a little comfort. xx

I don’t know if the author of the piece gained any comfort, but the sentiment felt incredibly genuine. “There is always someone who comes to take them home”. 

They’re not alone. It’s okay. They’re not alone. 


All comments are great. Some comments are worth copying, saving and reposting.

Comments are a gift. I’ve giggled and cried at stories that have been told via comments, both stories that have been very similar to my own and others that couldn’t be further from daily routine. I couldn’t imagine writing this blog without having you guys to talk to BUT I also know that many of you sneak in here each day and never comment – which is fine, I get it. You will when you have something to say.






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