Robbie lost a life-long friend last week. We would have flown to New York for the funeral. But as with so many life-cycle events during COVID, only immediate family could attend. So there we were, towing our RV along Interstate 75, marveling at the Florida Everglades, and Zooming into Suri’s funeral.
As the landscape went from sawgrass to cypress swamp to pine uplands along “Alligator Alley,” we both shed tears and smiles as the rabbi recited traditional prayers and family members recalled Suri’s irrepressible spunk.
We were sad, but this was no despondent drive.
At 57, Suri certainly died far too early (she was diagnosed with MS in her 20s and had been in its slow decline for years, but her passing was not COVID related). Even with the disease, she was a force. Stories shared about Suri’s life well lived made this a celebration of life, as did an iPhone, a video conferencing app, and a reliable Internet – especially deep along the Alley.
We’ve written before about how with at least two of those three components – a device connected to the Internet – work can be done from anywhere. I’ve covered “teleworking” since the 1990s. Almost two decades before the pandemic, I launched HomeOfficeHighway.com to explore working from parks along the Blue Ridge Parkway, a seaside retreat on the Jersey Shore and along Route 66 during a three-week family roadtrip to California.
We just hadn’t thought about how it could help complete life’s cycles.
Beyond work, tech is showing us life also can be lived from almost anywhere. People who otherwise might be holed up alone and away from family during the pandemic’s office closures are leaving cities – laptops in hand – to work and live someplace more rewarding.
Homebuyers – executives, families, and people in search of quality of life – are flocking to Florida. RV and camper sales are at record highs as people realize the open road and campgrounds are safe, productive and socially-distanced places to work.
A funeral streamed meant we didn’t have to cancel or delay any plans – or (trite as it may sound) arrive and set up in darkness at the campground.
Ever more reliable technology has made possible all those life events during COVID – birthdays, anniversary celebrations, weddings, even funerals, not to mention remote work for millions for whom the office is dark for the foreseeable future.
Fast forward two days to Saturday night. Suri’s shiva, the traditional Jewish period of mourning and gathering, started soon after sunset. We were holed away in our camper, Mr. Charlie, along Florida’s Myakka River, reciting prayers and sharing stories about a woman who lived well and passed with a sense of pride.
We gathered with Suri’s family and friends from Toronto, New York, western Canada, California, and our RV in Southwest Florida. The rabbi estimated at least 120 F&F were there, seeing from the gallery view that 60 devices had logged in.
The shiva lasted almost three hours – three totally, remarkably, thankfully glitch-free hours.
Some people say camping should be about disconnecting. Communing with nature, and all that. Truth is, it’s a personal decision. Some want to stay connected; some want to log off. Many campers ask – or at least wonder – “what’s the Internet like at your campground?” We’ve been to campgrounds and music festivals where “No Service” shows up on our devices from the moment we arrived and doesn’t disappear until we leave. Hell, we’re paying a compulsory $7 fee for Internet service we’ll never used while at this campground (our AT&T Hotspot is much more reliable and secure).
Don’t judge. As campers and consumers, we each have our own “off switch.” We use it when we’re so inclined. And when a dear friend has passed and we wish to pay respects – while not putting life on hold – digital connections let us be there, while living our lives.
Suri knew that more than anyone. She woulda been thrilled to know we Zoomed her funeral from the road and her shiva from a campsite somewhere beautiful.
It’s an amazing time to be alive – and connected. Thanks for reminding us, Suri. You will forever be of blessed memory.