I Am Mute With Grief; Let My "Like" Suffice

I remember when my friend Kat went into the hospital to have a tumor removed, and her husband Eric kept us posted via Twitter.  I remember at the time, not being on Twitter, that it seemed a little cold and distant, to let us know whether Kat was alive or dead via a 140-character broadcast.
Then I went into surgery for a triple-bypass, and I saw the other end of that; the deluge of requests, the constant phone calls, everyone’s worry piling up in a tide of messages that were just incredibly stressful for Gini.  All this love had a cost, and that cost was communication, and when Gini started posting updates on Facebook, I understood: this was a mercy.  She was near-unmanned by her concern for me.  Let her post once, so she doesn’t have to relieve this stress over fifty texts and phone calls, and give her more time to hold my hand, for it may be the last.
I survived.  My youngest cousin did not.  He had a terrible accident on Monday – on a pedal bike, of all things – and he died.  I’ve been kept in the know by my Aunt and my Dad, and haven’t said anything because it’s not my story to tell.
Finally, this morning, his sister posted a terse message to Facebook.  And I commented, as did at least fifty others, expressing loss and support and concern.  I was okay then.
Until I saw that she’d “liked” my comment.
I know what that “like” means.  It means, grief has stolen my words, and my time, and my energy.  Please.  Let this one click suffice to show that I saw what you had to say, and acknowledged it, and that’s all I can do right now.
Sometimes, social media is petty, and mean, and full of insults and childish vitriol.  But today, it’s a low-energy way of staying in touch at a time when I’m sure they do not want to talk to anyone.
That’s a small blessing on a very dark day.