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Losing Terry Pratchett

There'll never be another Terry Pratchett.

I've read all of his Discworld novels at least twice. When Hurricane Katrina hit here almost ten years ago, among the few things I took with me after I had to flee were two Pratchett paperbacks. They helped see me through. Yesterday's news of his passing hit me hard--all the harder, because we saw it coming, his readers and family and friends and I. I never met the gentleman, but I've met Alzheimer's, and what a despicable, cruel disease it is. Sir Terry faced his diagnosis with courage and wit, bringing immense attention and funds to the search for a cure. And he continued to write to the bitter end.

--No, I mustn't say "bitter", I hope his ending was at least bittersweet, that Death took him as gently as any of his characters. His publisher says he was surrounded by family, with his cat on the bed. That's about as good as it gets for anybody. Sir Terry was on record as wanting to pick the time and place for his passing. I trust he got his wish.

He had a sword forged from meteorite with which he was knighted, but the sharpest thing he owned was between his ears. For a disease to mess with that is unspeakable. For an author to be as widely beloved as Sir Terry was is almost unheard-of.

Tears and smiles from here, dear man, and thank you.
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