My high school girlfriend

If you know me, or follow this blog regularly—and if you do someone really should show you what a library looks like—you know once I get hold of a joke I like I hang on tight and ride it straight into the ground.

Now normally, after that last sentence, I'd follow it up with "Just like my high school girlfriend." It's my version of “That’s what she said” —an easy joke I've used numerous times in more posts than I can count. And I'm sure more posts than you wanted.

The good news is I'll be retiring that joke for awhile. The bad news is the reason why.

Yesterday I happened to be thinking about my actual high school girlfriend Sandy. She was never the one I referred to in the joke. In fact I never had a specific person in mind—it was just a funny line I could use over and over. And over.

Anyway, when I went to the Google to look up Sandy, what came up wasn't her Facebook profile or her Twitter account. The first thing I saw was her obituary. Turns out she passed away unexpectedly back in October. And even though I hadn't spoken with her in decades, it was still a gut punch that hit me like a ton of bricks.

I remember a few years after we broke up, we wound up getting together for a mini-reunion to catch up with each other's lives. What I found out was that Sandy had a very tough go of it in the years since I'd seen her. She'd had problems with drugs, which I knew she'd dabbled with in high school. She'd gotten married, but her husband was in prison for armed robbery, caught by undercover cops in the middle of a drug deal. And, while she was trying to figure her life out, she was back working at the same dead end data entry job for a car leasing company she'd had in high school.

According to the obituary, she moved to Florida in 2006, and had been working in the mortgage industry for Bank of America. Apparently she was a fairly high-ranking banking officer there. She’d also become a hardcore animal rights activist, and had eight dogs, a snake and an iguana—all of them rescues.

It was nice to read that in the years in between, Sandy seemed to have turned her life around and become an accomplished professional. I hope she was a happy one.

So again, I'm retiring the "high school girlfriend" joke for awhile. While it was never about her, now I can’t say it without thinking of her, even though I know she'd appreciate it. Hey, funny then, funny now.

Besides, that line's not the real joke. The real joke is thinking people who were once special to you will always be around. The punchline is they won't.

God bless you Sandy. You meant the world to me and you'll be in my heart forever. Rest in peace.

Linking them out

If you're anything like me - and really, let's hope you're setting your sights higher than that - you share the feeling there're more than enough things in the world to make you sad. Just turn on the news. Look at the price of gas. Adam Sandler is still making movies.

One thing that makes me especially heartbroken is seeing the name of someone I know who is since deceased pop up on the "People You May Know" section of LinkedIn.

It's happened three times now. I get it. In the midst of all the sadness and arrangements that have to be made when someone passes away, the last thing anyone is thinking about is removing their LinkedIn profile. It's not on anyone's radar.

But unlike the people themselves, those profiles live forever unless someone requests they be taken down. Which is what I've taken it upon myself to do.

All three times when a friend who's moved on to the great beyond has come up on LinkedIn, I've requested their profile be taken down. It doesn't take much. All LinkedIn needs is a date of death, link to an obituary, my relationship to the deceased, and the URL to their profile.

It's odd, but doing it seems like closure to me. A detail that if I don't do, no one will. It feels like they can finally rest in peace.

I suppose there's an argument that keeping their profiles active keeps their memory alive somehow. But if that's what it takes, then maybe their loved ones didn't make as many memories as they think.

No one asked me to do it, and I realize their profiles can always be created again. But the idea of some employer trying in vain to contact them for a job is disturbing to me, as I imagine it is to the loved ones who receive the emails and have to explain the circumstances.

If you see someone on LinkedIn you know has died, let LinkedIn know and ask that they be removed.

They don't need to worry about jobs anymore.