“Why Are We So Quick to Post “RIP” but So Slow to Say “Well Done”, By Mary Asoga

Think about the last time someone you know shared a win. Maybe a promotion, a new business, a graduation, a book they finished writing. They posted it with hope, maybe even a little fear, because sharing a win takes courage. And what happened? A few likes. A scattered “congrats.” Perhaps one or two reshares from the people who truly love them. Then the timeline moved on, and so did everyone else.
Now think about what happens when that same person dies. Within hours, their picture is everywhere. The best photo anyone can find. The captions pour in: “Gone too soon.” “You were a gift.” “I can’t believe this.” People who haven’t spoken to them in years suddenly have long stories to tell. Posts get shared hundreds of times. The same name that could barely trend while they were alive is now on every screen.
So what is going on? Why does death get the attention that life could not?

DEATH IS LOUD, AND ACHIEVEMENT IS QUIET.
A death arrives like a shock. It interrupts us. It forces the mind to stop scrolling and feel something. An achievement, on the other hand, asks nothing of us. We can see it, smile, and keep moving. Grief demands a response. Celebration feels optional.

COMPARISON STEALS OUR CHEERS.
So let’s be honest about this one. Celebrating a living person can quietly sting. Their promotion reminds us of our stagnation. Their wedding reminds us of our waiting. Their success holds up a mirror we are not always ready to look into. But the dead are no longer competing with us. Their story is finished, and it is safe to praise a finished story. Envy has nothing to feed on anymore.

And here is where the story gets interesting. When someone dies, many people feel a sudden weight. I should have called. I should have visited. I should have supported that business. I should have shown up. Since the chance is gone, guilt searches for somewhere to land, and a public tribute becomes that place. The long post is sometimes less about the dead and more about the one grieving out loud, trying to settle an unpaid debt of attention.

On the other hand, Social media has turned grief into something we do together, in public. When a name trends, people feel pulled to join in. Posting the picture says, “I knew them too. I was part of their life. I belong in this moment.” Sometimes it is sincere love. Sometimes it is simply the instinct to be seen participating. And sometimes it is the race to be among the first to break the news, as though announcing a death were an achievement of its own.

And do you ever noticed Something strange happens when a person dies. Their flaws disappear. The arguments are forgotten. The petty quarrels, the unanswered messages, the awkward silences all fade, and suddenly they were the kindest, funniest, most generous soul who ever lived. We rarely remember people honestly after they are gone. We remember them beautifully. The sad part is that the living version of them, the imperfect, tired, striving human being, would have given anything to hear even half of those words.

AND OUR CULTURE, IT TEACHES US HOW TO MOURN, BUT NOT HOW TO CELEBRATE.
In many societies, and certainly in ours, we have rituals for death. The wake. The burial. The gathering. The condolence visits. The cooked food. The aso ebi. Everyone knows what to do when someone dies. But we have no matching ritual for a living person’s quiet victory. Nobody teaches us how to clap loudly for a friend on an ordinary Tuesday. So we wait for the big occasion, and death is the biggest occasion there is.

AND THEN THERE IS THE ALGORITHM.
HMMMMM
Let us not pretend the screen has no part in thissss. Tragedy travels faster than triumph online. Sad posts get more engagement. A tribute to the dead spreads further than a celebration of the living, and people sense that. Without admitting it, some of us post what will be received, not only what we feel.

HERE COMES THE HONEST QUESTION: WHAT DO PEOPLE ACTUALLY DO WHEN SOMEONE DIES?
They change their profile pictures. They write the long caption. They dig out old photos and old chats. They tell stories they never told when the person was alive. They send money to the family, sometimes more than they ever sent when that person needed help. They show up at the funeral in large numbers, dressed well, standing in rows. They say, “He was a good man.” They say, “She did so much for everyone.” They cry, and the crying is real.
And all of it is human. None of it is fake. Grief is genuine, and love is often genuine too. The tragedy is not that people mourn. The tragedy is the timing.

Because the dead cannot read the tributes. They cannot see the shares. They cannot feel the warmth of a thousand comments. They cannot be encouraged by a crowd that finally arrived. All the love, all the attention, all the beautiful words came to an address where nobody lives anymore.

Meanwhile, somewhere right now, a living person is posting a small victory and checking their phone, hoping someone notices. Someone is building something quietly, tired and doubting themselves. Someone is one kind word away from believing the work is worth it.
We do not have to wait for a funeral program to tell people what they meant to us. We can reshare the post. We can send the message. We can say the thing today, while ears can still hear it.

FINALLY HERE IS THE QUESTION THAT WORTH SITTING WITH
If your voice only becomes loud when someone is gone, who exactly were you speaking to all along, and who still needs to hear you now?
#life #viral #everyone #monday