Opinion

OPINION | GREG HARTON: Why do we mourn people we’ve never met?

Did you mourn the death of Queen Elizabeth II?

It would be a shock if you didn't observe some of the celebrations of the queen's life or the many, many shows documenting her 70 years on the throne. But did you actually mourn her loss?

As I've gotten older, the deaths of people I've never met have come to have bigger impacts emotionally, and I'm not exactly sure why that's the case.

It's not like the deaths of historical figures or big-name celebrities are a new development. I was 11 years old riding my bicycle on an afternoon newspaper route in 1977 when I stopped by my great aunt's house in Little Rock and learned Elvis Presley had died. It was huge news I was indeed interested in, but I don't really think I went into any sort of mourning. Clearly, though, the thousands of people at Graceland in Memphis, most of whom had never met him, poured out their emotions right there at the musical notes adorning the gates.

Not to be too wistful, but the privilege of growing older brings us closer to the realization that our time on earth is short. Then, beyond that, we start to see people who have always been present in our lives pass on. Of course it's only natural that we are heartbroken at the loss of people who love us and have cared for us, such as our parents, but why feel emotional about someone you've never even met?

It's different for everyone. For some, Kobe Bryant's death was devastating. For others, it was Princess Diana's passing at such a young age.

The queen's death has to be one of the ultimate circumstances leading to this kind of mourning. It was 1952 when she became queen. By the time I was born, she'd already been queen more than 13 years.

The vast majority of human beings on the planet have been born since Elizabeth became queen. For all of us, we've never known a world in which she wasn't the British monarch. But I never met her.

Still, I was truly saddened by her death even as I was a bit perplexed as to why. She's not even my queen.

I thought back to others. In 1966, the year after I was born, Jerry Lewis began hosting his 24-hour Labor Day Telethon to raise money for the National Muscular Dystrophy Association. Back in the day, it was a huge entertainment event as well as a civic-minded, compassionate undertaking. Lewis died in 2017. I mourned him then and, to a degree, in 2011, the first year the telethon went on without him.

The fact that people die is about as self-evident a fact as, well, anything. As we sometimes hear, none of us are getting out of this world alive.

Why would I be bothered by the death of someone I've never met?

Entertainers, world leaders and other influencers become threads in the tapestries of our lives. And somewhere along the way we deceive ourselves, as we do with our parents, that they'll just always be with us. The idea of a world without them is almost inconceivable, whether it's Johnny Carson or Alex Trebek or Dale Bumpers.

I haven't been a child for a long time but I think we still hold tightly to what we can from our youth. Even in my 50s, it sometimes feels like the death of someone who figured prominently in the culture since I've been around allows a little more of childhood to slip away.

We mourn not just because of what they were, but because of what they and their actions have meant to our own lives.

I find it a little odd, but I don't think it's that unusual.