I woke early today for no known reason, tossed rather contentedly from my cocoon of bed clothes and eventually dragged the laptop over to begin some writing. Suddenly, I’m met with numbers of articles that mention the death of Christopher Hitchens yesterday.
I am sad at more than a loss of a good writer — he and I have/had the same kind of cancer, esophageal cancer. Mine was discovered far earlier in its development than his was, and thus a pang of guilt goes through me as I write this: I am still here. Being able to say “survivor’s guilt” does not really make it any easier.
But mostly I’m saddened at the passing of a writer who detailed life in Tumortown, as he called it, because such people are a rarity. He has gotten tons of details and insights down properly without once veering off into maudlin sentiment. In the world of cancer-writing, this is rare.
Good and talented people leave this planet far too early far too often, I think. We have to do our best to fill in the holes as we can.