I found myself arrested this evening to learn of the passing of a distant but steady friend, Archaeopteryx. He proved himself a reliable companion and support to many of us fledgling deconverts, hobbling as we must from our personal wreckage toward the daylight. Not a god, but in many of our lives, he could almost seem omnipresent, ever ready to comment on anything you posted. I feel that I owe him a debt, and in partings without goodbyes, the ledgers go unreconciled.
I cannot help but think of Hitchens, who said that he didn’t fear death, because there was nothing to fear in it. Rather, he feared the waste and sordid decline of dying. Honest, as ever, regarding the truth of that final fear.
I’ll miss Arch. I’ll miss his reliable wit, there every time I post something. I also think, when one day I finish writing my bloody book, I’ll miss him reading it. I think maybe the best I can manage is a Hitch farewell, spelled in Johnny Walker Black. My eyes may not be dry, but there will be no blubbering fictions about a better place. Instead, I can say that I do find consolation that Arch has passed now, beyond the spectre and the reach of that final fear.