Facebook and MySpace have crossed another virtual line and entered another aspect of life: death.

The death of friends and family is always sad. It always makes us consider our own lives, defeating the fantasy that we last forever on Earth. It reminds us that life not only has a beginning, but an end.

This is my sixth semester here, and so far, I’ve known about numerous student deaths. Working at the paper makes it easy to hear about them. Unfortunately, some of these deaths were coworkers.

In fact, just two weeks ago, Northern Star alumna Jami Knowles passed away.

She worked at the Star with me, and we had classes together. I even helped her write a column that appeared on this very page in August 2007. I found out about her passing from a friend who also works at the paper, but if I had not heard from him, I would surely have found out on Facebook.

In fact, Jami’s memorial service was posted as an event, with directions, time and guest list. It looked odd appearing next to the list of free keg nights and “Who’s still in town?” parties, like one red block amidst a pile of blue ones.

But that’s how death is. It brings a jolt to our calm world, and nothing could have brought it home more than seeing Jami’s name on her own guest list, complete with a picture of her and her niece. I shed a tear, thinking that she was not going to be able to click “attending” but would, without a doubt, be there.

There are other NIU students on Facebook and MySpace who are no longer with us. Summer Adi passed away in a car accident, but her profile picture is framed within a star.

Derek Jensen, who used to write for the Star, was president of the NIU Footbag Club and was killed in a car accident two summers ago. He lives eternally through our memories and through his Facebook picture, where he is seen having a good time with a group of friends.

They have other photos online. So does Jami. In fact, those photos helped me remember all I knew about her. The pastor at her memorial service even read off part of her profile, because it summed up who she was in such a universal way. Her sister took some of the memorial comments people posted on Jami’s page to display at the memorial service.

On the other students’ pages, friends and family still leave comments regularly.

They flip through their photos and see images that have captured the essence of these people. They remember days long gone and cry as they write a new comment.

This is unique from an anthropological perspective. Last year, I spent a whole class discussion with anthropology professor Judy Ledgerwood discussing how MySpace profiles reveal gender roles in our culture. But here we can also study grieving patterns.

In America, a cemetery is the usual place where we visit friends and family who have passed away, where we leave flowers, where we talk to their spirits and hope that they hear us through the ethereal gates of heaven.

Now, we can also do this on Facebook. These profiles remind us of our own mortality. We often act as though we can live forever, but these Web sites warn us that death can occur at any time, freezing our profile for eternity.

So let’s try to do a few things differently today. Let’s be careful about how we represent ourselves. As many people regretfully know, what goes up on Facebook can either be of our own photography or that of our friends.

Photos don’t lie; they tell the story of who we are, in a place that will remain as long as no one knows our password. When we pass into the next world, this is the modern legacy we will leave behind.

So let’s clean up our profiles while we still can, whether that means changing our pictures or changing our lifestyle.