Hello there and I’m Christian Robicheau at the Sterling Creations desk for March 14.
Hope everyone is doing good and for today, very pleased to share our president’s weekly editorial with you.
Today, Donna J. Jodhan shares a very personal editorial with you and she would like to hear your thoughts on this.
Write to her at donnajodhan@sterlingcreations.ca.
Happy weekend everyone
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The Woes and Wonders of What’s App
By Donna J. Jodhan
There is no denying that WhatsApp has changed the way we live. It has stitched continents together, collapsed time zones, and made distance feel almost irrelevant. With a simple tap, we can reach loved ones across oceans. We can share laughter, photos, milestones, and everyday moments instantly. Whether we are at home, at work, or halfway across the world, WhatsApp keeps us connected.
That is its wonder.
We can chat with friends no matter where we are. We can send a quick message to check in. We can create family groups that buzz with jokes, memories, and updates. Birthdays are celebrated in real time. Babies are introduced to relatives within seconds of arrival. Long-lost classmates reconnect. In many ways, WhatsApp has become the modern town square—a place where conversations never truly stop.
But even the brightest inventions cast shadows.
Here lies the woe.
The ease of sending messages has, in some cases, replaced something deeply human: the courage to speak difficult words aloud. It is one thing to post a cheerful greeting in a group chat. It is quite another to announce the death of a loved one through the same channel used for memes and forwarded videos.
There are moments in life that demand more than a notification tone.
Recently, my mother experienced this painful reality. She learned that her surviving sister had passed away—not through a phone call, not through a compassionate voice on the other end of the line—but through a WhatsApp group message. My sister-in-law had seen the news posted there and passed it along. Imagine the shock. Imagine the hurt. To discover such devastating news in the same space where casual chatter lives feels jarring, impersonal, and profoundly disrespectful.
Technology gives us speed. But grief does not move at the speed of Wi-Fi.
When someone dies, the news carries weight. It deserves care, tone, empathy—qualities that are difficult to convey in a brief message typed and sent into a digital crowd. A phone call allows for pauses, for tears, for silence. It allows the receiver to ask questions, to process, to feel supported in real time.
WhatsApp is not the villain. It is a tool—powerful, convenient, and in many ways, remarkable. But tools must be used wisely. Not every message belongs in a group chat. Not every piece of news should arrive as a pop-up on a screen.
The wonder of WhatsApp is connection.
The woe is forgetting what connection truly means.
In our rush to share information quickly, may we not lose the tenderness that life’s most fragile moments require. Some news deserves more than a message. It deserves a voice.
I’d like to leave you with this for your consideration.
The elderly lady is sitting quietly, maybe in her favorite chair, hands folded in her lap, when her daughter-in-law looks up from her phone — the glow of the screen still lighting her face. She hesitates. That tiny pause says everything. Then, gently, softly, she tells her: the message just came through on WhatsApp. Her sister… her last surviving sister… has passed away.
At first, the old woman doesn’t quite react. It’s like the words hover in the air, not yet landing. Then they sink in. Her eyes widen just slightly, searching her daughter-in-law’s face as if hoping she misread it. But the truth is there.
Her shoulders fold inward. Her lips tremble. A lifetime of shared memories — childhood laughter, whispered secrets, family gatherings, growing old together — rushes in all at once. This wasn’t just a sister. This was her final living link to her earliest days.
Tears spill over, slow at first, then freely. She covers her face with thin, trembling hands, her body shaking with quiet sobs. The room feels unbearably still. The daughter-in-law stands close, unsure whether to speak, eventually placing a gentle hand on her shoulder — a small, human anchor in the middle of sudden grief.
It’s not just the loss of a person. It’s the loss of a shared past. A chapter closing for good.
That kind of grief is deep and layered — sorrow for her sister, and maybe the sharp awareness of her own mortality too. It’s tender and raw and very real.
moment,
Image = A silhouetted hand holds a tilted smartphone displaying the green WhatsApp screen with the white chat-bubble phone logo and the word WhatsApp, set against a bright green, softly blurred background filled with floating message icons and speech bubbles.
To learn more about me as an award winning sight loss coach and advocate visit www.donnajodhan.com
