Proof of Grief

You know that moment at a funeral when half the room pulls out their phones? Not to text or check the time. To take pictures of themselves. With the dead person in the shot if possible.

It used to feel obscene to me—you’re there because someone died, and you’re posing for Instagram. But I think I’ve been reading it wrong. The phone isn’t the problem. It’s just making visible what was already happening: we need proof that we experienced something, that we showed up right, that our grief was real. We need someone to believe us.

A selfie at a funeral is genuinely strange. But it’s not new. People have always wanted evidence—a story they could tell, a detail they could describe—that proved they grieved correctly, felt enough, were there. Now you just show a picture instead of telling someone. Here’s my face. Here’s my dead relative. Here’s my sadness.

The weird part isn’t the phone. It’s that we’ve gotten so used to needing the phone in order to believe in our own experience. A moment doesn’t count unless you can see it reflected back at you. A feeling doesn’t exist unless you can post it.

Maybe that’s just honest. Maybe it’s tragic. Probably it’s both.