Just when I remind myself that they aren't, that this artist, actor, or that author is still with us, we lose another one.
Another bright light in an endless sea of drab darkness has gone out, snuffed from existence by fate, chance, the nature of things, or, spare me, a higher power.
Ladies, and Gentlemen, a moment of silence, and a lifetime of respect and admiration, for the passing of Terry Pratchett.
Terry Pratchett was to be one of my Thorough Thursday posts this month. Seems appropriate that I praise him now, rather than wait.
It is very difficult to know where to begin, or what to say. To speak on behalf of the life of a man who I did not know personally, and whose wit, and way with words would surely put anything clever, or poignant I wanted to say to shame, I am left feeling inadequate to the task.
The one thing I can say is this; Terry Pratchett would not put me to shame. He would not read what I wrote about him, say he could do better, and proceed to embarrass me with his gifts.
Based on everything I've read about him, everything I've ever heard him say, he would say not to put him on a pedestal, not to treat his life as any more important, or full of grandeur than any other. "Sure, I had a good run", I am imagine him reflecting, but in the end he would say that, in the end, all our stories come to a last page.
All of us meet Death. We can see him coming, and run screaming in the other direction, but it really is so much wasted effort I'm afraid. We can instead, wait until we are ready, quietly close up shop, give him a firm and friendly handshake, and say, "Well then, where are we off to now?"
Mister Pratchett, I don't know where you're off to, and I certainly don't believe there is a particular place to go in the literal sense, but I have to hope there is a new journey of some sort waiting for you. Enjoy your eternal holiday.
You will be missed.
“No one is actually dead
until the ripples they cause in the world die away...”
Reaper Man, a Discworld novel,
By Terry Pratchett.