The description on the video seen above:
Chris Picco singing Blackbird to his son, Lennon James Picco, who was delivered by emergency C-section at 24 weeks after Chris’ wife Ashley unexpectedly and tragically passed away in her sleep. Lennon’s lack of movement and brain activity was a constant concern for the doctors and nurses at Loma Linda University Children’s Hospital, where he received the absolute best care available. During the pregnancy, Ashley would often feel Lennon moving to music so Chris asked if he could bring his guitar into the NICU and play for Lennon, which he did for several hours during the last days of Lennon’s precious life. One day after filming this, Lennon went to sleep in his daddy’s arms.
A memorial fund has raised more than $100,000. Katy Waldman has mixed feelings about the Internet’s response to the story:
Why are we clicking and sharing (and giving)? Do we even understand what we see onscreen, or has Chris Picco’s tragedy just become another cheap portal to all the feels?
It’s hard to argue that the wave of financial support brought on by the video is somehow sinister. Sure, $100,000 is a lot of money and perhaps better spent elsewhere, but there are far more pernicious uses of a hundred grand than vastly improving the quality of life for a man who just lost his wife and newborn son. And while there may be some injustice in only the iPhone-documented and Facebook-approved tragedies attracting our dollars and attention—remember when the bullied bus driver received hundreds of thousands of dollars for her pain?—the solution to that injustice is pretty clearly not to declare that no one at all should get dollars or attention. (By the way: This is the same tension that many of us face when giving money to homeless people on the subway or street. Should I not give to this guy because I can’t give to everyone? I hope not.)
But it’s not really the strangers donating to Picco who are the bad guys here. It’s the voyeurs we’re truly worried about, the casual clickers ogling the wreckage before drifting on to another listicle. But what if a casual browser’s momentary engagement with Picco’s story isn’t gross, exploitative, or wrong? What if the small gleams of compassion and pity you feel for a dad you’ve never met only add to the store of compassion and pity in the world?
Update from a reader:
Katy Waldman may wonder why the Internet has responded to this story. I don’t. The Internet is made up of human beings.
I haven’t watched the video. I can’t watch the video. The headline is enough to make me cry. Because I too have sang to my son. I too held my son until he went to sleep.
Regardless, I know what is in that video – a very human story. A story not often told, but one that resonates with people. Every parent who sees that story knows the fear of losing their child. Every person who has been in love knows there could be a moment where they will need to give comfort and say goodbye. You are talking about core truths of the human experience that touch the deepest centers of our beings. The tragedy experienced by Chris Picco is something everyone can relate to at some level.
Worrying about what motivates the people watching this video kind of misses the point. What you have here is people reaching out, connecting to their loved ones, sharing something that touched them. Passing around a message of love and strength. Helping out if they can, in the way they can.
So what if some people are voyeurs? I am willing to bet that for every person who felt nothing and moved on to the next link there were many more who were left with a deeper appreciation of what they have and how easily it can all be lost. Some people probably even walked away grateful that they weren’t given that burden to bear. Do the reactions and understanding of the audience really matter? The story, and the truth behind it, is what matters.
The Dish 