Steve Jobs died. He was only two years older than me. He did nothing wrong! By all rights he should have lived to a hundred. If someone had crazily ever come up to me and said "Steve Jobs is going to die at 56 -- only you have the power to stop this happening. Unfortunately, in order to do so, you must die in his place." I would have done it a hundred times over.
It's just not fair! My father died at 86 after fighting the Nazis and being a good guy for the rest of his life. He died of old age. That's fair. But the dying of Steve is just not fair . . . the "god" that so many people evoke is a laughing, vengeful god . . . an aberration of that kindly old man we all know. No, more like a bitter, arbitrary god, given to sadistic displays of angry impulses, a god who looks at His work and frequently gets pissed off and destroys 50% of it whenever he hasn't had His morning cigarette.
Not that God has anything to do with Steve. I mourn the loss of him. There will never be another Steve. there never has been and there never will be again. He has joined the ranks of the Impossibles, the true superhumans who somehow one day decided to come down and join us mortals here on Earth.
I guarantee, much like Captain Kirk will echo on into ages who only can read of him on history pads, Steve will live on among us for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years.
Go good, Stevie boy. The garage was a good choice.
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