Happy Birthday, My Deceased Facebook Friends

By Mika Horelli, BRUSSELS

I habitually send birthday greetings to my Facebook friends whenever the platform reminds me to do so. Often, the recipient is someone I know in real life—a friend, relative, colleague, or old schoolmate. Sometimes, the message goes to someone I've never met face-to-face but with whom I've had meaningful exchanges in Facebook comment sections over the years.

Last week, however, I received a message from a stranger informing me that one of my Facebook friends, to whom I had just sent birthday wishes, had passed away three years ago. I don't know why their account was still active or who maintained it—if anyone did. Perhaps the profile continued to exist autonomously, powered by algorithms and untouched by human intervention. This wasn't the first time. I've previously sent heartfelt birthday wishes to people no longer alive. These moments make me reflect on what happens when social media platforms construct a parallel reality around us—where we either exist or don't.

The fact that some of my Facebook friends are people I don't know in real life isn't coincidental. It's directly tied to my profession: the articles, columns, and news pieces I write reach hundreds of thousands of readers—most of whom are strangers to me. I appreciate it when someone goes out of their way to connect, comment, share their views, or simply follow my work.

However, I've learned to ask unfamiliar friend requesters: why do you want to be my friend on Facebook if we don't know each other? Often, the answer is sincere—someone has read my writings and wants to follow me, or perhaps we've had a discussion in a comment section, or one of their friends has shared my posts, and they find them interesting. Usually, I check who else they are friends with. The old adage holds true: if you want to learn something essential about someone, look at their friends. I usually accept if the request comes from a genuine individual and the connection seems reasonable.

Healthy scepticism is necessary in a world filled with bots and fake accounts. But even here, the same logic applies as in real life: it's easier to trust someone known by a sensible mutual acquaintance.

Facebook has also been a tool through which I've reconnected with many people from my childhood and youth in Puotila and Helsinki. Without social media, I might never have heard from them again. This is especially significant because I've spent nearly a third of my life outside my native Finland—in Copenhagen, New York City, and Brussels.

I often imagine how disconnected from my own history my world would be without Facebook and similar platforms. At the same time, I can't ignore how fragile and fleeting many virtual connections ultimately are. Is friendship about commenting on each other's posts on various topics? Or is it about knowing when another person is truly sad—or happy?

Social media has turned us into omniscient strangers. We know an incredible amount about others' lives—but what we know is often just a carefully curated surface layer. We are present in each other's lives but perhaps not truly there.

The most significant change in our social networks isn't technical but emotional. Before digitalization, our social network consisted of those with whom we shared everyday life, celebrations, challenges, and meaningful conversations. Now, it can include people we've never met and may never meet. Yet their opinions, likes, and comments influence how our own lives appear.

Maybe it's not about whether social media is "good" or "bad," but instead that it's a tool. And like all tools, its effectiveness depends on its users. It can be a powerful way to maintain connections, discover new perspectives, and even preserve memories when used consciously.

But using it requires the ability to see through illusions. Friendship doesn't arise from "like" buttons, nor is presence synonymous with profile activity. It's worth reminding ourselves occasionally that while social media can complement real life, it can never replace it.

My birthday wishes beyond the grave may be sorrowful but are also truthful reminders that while algorithms make no distinction between living and deceased individuals—we should. It's our responsibility to hold onto what makes us human: presence, meaning, and memory.

And sometimes it's worth closing the browser window, picking up the phone, and calling someone for real.

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