I've been the luckiest person on earth in a way -- no one I was really close to has died until now -- so this is new to me. I understand that grand and tidy thoughts about death serve the living (me), not the dead, and I don't want to start an "Obit" series here. But the idea of Allan's life passing unmarked bothers me, so I'll plant this virtual tombstone.He was ornery and funny, with a wealth of arcane knowledge. (That's a pathetic description; he was one of the fastest and funniest people I've ever known, and for a hermit he had a huge amount of charm.)
He had a few problems that kept him from finding his creative "voice," and his balance. He'd been receding from the world (and from friends like me) for years, and I would guess he felt backed into a corner he couldn't escape.
After sorting out the involuntary blizzard of memories and feelings I had after hearing about it, I came to a conclusion: that the true sum of a life is in what's passed on to other people, and radiated out from there. At best, a hopeful chain reaction of fascination and warmth.
Allan would have been disgusted to hear me say something so sentimental; but when he was up to it, he generated a lot of that warmth. And I'm sure a lot of people who knew him still carry it, just like me.
Allan's artwork illustrates this post:
[ Too Short ]
