This week, giants have fallen. The earth is still trembling from the jolt.
I don’t think of myself as someone who idolizes rock stars and actors, but I have been deeply affected by the sudden deaths of David Bowie and Alan Rickman.
I am struggling to understand why I am so upset at the death of complete strangers. I never met either man. I never even saw them in person. I never wrote them a fan letter (and now never will). I know them only from their work, some of which I love.
Why are these deaths so troubling? Perhaps the death of all great artists looms large for those who are touched by their work.
Maybe it’s the fact that they both died of cancer at the age of 69. I think everyone should live until 80 at least. What work might they have done given another eleven years of life?
Or could it be as simple as this? They remind me that we are all mortal, even the talented and hard-working creative geniuses who seem to light up the sky without trying.