We undoubtedly live in a time when staying in touch with one another has become reinvented. Advances in technology have provided us with more innovation than ever before. And with 97%* of Americans now carrying a computer in their pocket, there's no longer a need to memorize events, statistics, or details. Again, nearly everyone walks around with a computer in their pocket. However, despite all of these technological advancements that significantly improve our proficiency, studies reveal that levels of human empathy have fallen by 48% since 1979**.
Despite these advances, our most inherent human exchange skill is gradually disappearing. Cartoon illustrations of bouncing hearts, thumbs-ups, and scowl-faced graphic icons substitute the most fundamental human interactions of respect and compassion. The refined art of human interaction is gradually fading as society's most genuine act of exchange becomes just another plastic cog in the technology machine, contributing to the insensitive degrading of empathy.
Over the past year, I watched a dear friend gracefully battle the most significant fight of his life. His optimism was endearing, uplifting, and exceptionally spirited. He was epically courageous and documented his battle in an online journal several days a week for much of the past year. Each day's update was an honest look at the circumstances balanced by his enthusiasm to face the challenge. He closed each journal entry with hope and never any word of doubt.
Zach is one of the good guys. We’ve worked together for nearly 20 years, and regardless of the task, he's always committed to doing the right thing for his friends, colleagues, and community. He's always encouraging and respectful, even with those last-minute requests. You can always count on him.
Zach isn't any different than the rest of us. Or, perhaps, he's actually quite unlike most of us. He reached out to me around the first of the year to let me know he was dealing with some things. Those things forced him to resign just two months before celebrating his 25th employment anniversary. He shared just how excited he was about the two of us getting together for me to capture his next milestone portrait, the one that would mark his long and dedicated quarter-century career. Unfortunately, our scheduled photo shoot never happened due to his unforeseen health issues.
In prime, Zach style, he has optimistically faced his health hurdles. It's all documented. Those of us in his circles would receive regular updates. Some even arrived just days apart from his last one. With each post, Zach detailed the events of his treatments and consistently closed with words of encouragement, along with a photograph of something interesting that he had taken from wherever he was that day. I loved that his journal profile image was the portrait I had captured of him five years ago, the one with his honest and warm smile. Watching him move through the events of this past year with such promise has been inspiring. My friend doesn't believe in causing a fuss or being a burden, and he never once expected anyone's sympathy because of his illness.
Zach and I regularly stayed in touch throughout the year. And then, in late August, I had the opportunity to visit him. It was a joy spending time with him, and it was no different than all the many times he and I had gotten together over the years. With one exception, this time, he was in a private hospital room battling for his life. The sunlight streamed through the window as we enjoyed a great afternoon conversation. Zach has always enjoyed a good conversation. And if you know him, you know he filled the conversation with more details and spirit than anyone else in the room. I was more than delighted it was with me that day. I was all ears and added to the discussion when I had the opportunity, which didn't come often. During my visit, he shared that his bone marrow transplant from a few months ago had gone quite well. Recently, however, things have turned the opposite. He was once again facing several severe health challenges.
Knowing how devoted Zach was at the office and assuming there were many, I asked about his visitors. Because it conveniently concealed my stunned disappointment in his reply, I was incredibly thankful to be wearing a face mask that day. Aside from me, Zach conveyed that only one other person from work had been in touch with him. He mentioned that he had emailed his manager numerous times over several months to update him on how things were going—because he was sure his supervisor would want to know. Even though months had passed, he had yet to receive a reply. Once again, Zach, being Zach, responded with, "he was probably just busy." All I could do was sit silently and appalled behind my face mask. To hear that one of our best customer service associates would not even receive a simple email reply or a visit from our team left me numb.
Like he always had, regular journal updates came over the next month. In early October, Zach posted that he was going home. He was thrilled, especially since his isolated hospital room had become his permanent residence for the past three months. The optimism in his journal was pure Zach, vibrant, bright, and honest. He was eager to head home, spend time with his beloved dog, cats, and critters, photograph his rural landscape, and sit on his front porch listening to his favorite eclectic music with his loving and affectionate wife.
Zach's next journal post two days later read, "The doctor wants the disease to run its course next week. Home palliative care will switch to hospice." As he always does, he displayed optimism—even about entering this next stage. "It really seems like the natural next step, but I understand if people need to get emotional. It has been quite a run."
I learned so much about myself while following Zach's journal over the year. Regardless of his day's challenge, each one was an honest celebration. Throughout the past year, he displayed more dignity than anyone I have ever met. He was open and candid about his condition and invariably encouraging despite his obstacles. Each journal update reflected that same sentiment and his authentic zest for life—even that last one.
Six days later, Zach passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by all the things he loved the most.
As an educator and a communications professional, I fully appreciate the importance of technology to our always-learning society. But technology alone is simply a tool. Absolutely nothing more. As useful as they are, tools assume no sentiment and will repeatedly fail to register any notion of love, compassion, or empathy.
Zach was a sincere believer. He had faith in his medical team, the science, and the technology. He also believed in the genuine goodness of people. Our innate ability to be compassionate and present with one another is far more valuable than any new technological trend. And as fundamental as they seem, often, the simplest gestures, like an unexpected message or a handwritten note, perhaps a phone call just to say hello, or even an unplanned visit to share a laugh or two, can provide far more sentiment than any tool ever will.
As one of the good guys, I honestly believe Zach would've absolutely agreed.
All photography, ©Gary Garbett
* Mobile Fact Sheet Pew Research Center. https://www.pewresearch.org/internet/fact-sheet/mobile/
** Decline in Human Empathy Creates Global Risks in the 'Age of Anger' Zurich. https://www.zurich.com/en/knowledge/topics/global-risks/decline-human-empathy-creates-global-risks-age-of-anger