All my heroes are dead now.
This night, Christopher Hitchens passed. He’d been struggling with cancer for a couple of years, yet he’d kept going despite knowing exactly what was in store for him.
A passing always hits a special part of your body, an organ you did not know was there. It’s like losing part of what helped keep your balance. It’s going to take some time to find a new balance in absence of that support.
When Arthur C. Clarke passed, he’d lived a lifetime and written more than one lifetimes worth of work. Knowing that, it was somewhat more easy to celebrate his life and work, knowing he’d more than fulfilled his promise. Douglas Adams life, on the other hand, was cut short like now Hitchens was. Surely both Adams and Hitchens have achieved more in their lives than many of us can ever hope to, but it still makes this no less tragic.
Hitch had a profound impact on me. Through his writing and speaking he logically approached the difficulty of the human condition. In no uncertain terms, Hitch managed to make actual sense of what might not have any sense in the first place. Not believing in God is not as easy as it sounds. The notion that this is it and even if you live a life unfulfilled in the end you’ll return to the void, that is a hard pill to swallow. Somehow it puts the injustice of the world in an even starker contrast.
Through this, Hitch taught me that what I need to strive for in life is to have more good days than bad days. He taught me what I want for my own deathbed; to have made some impact in the lives of the people I spent it with, to hopefully have been an invisible support to give balance. You were that support to me, Hitch, and like walking a staircase missing a step, I expect to stumble in your absence. I will do my best to find a new balance and help others do so. And I will tell my daughter about you.
The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it