Terry Pratchett said, “We are trying to unravel the Mighty Infinite using a language which was designed to tell one another where the fresh fruit was.” If anyone got close, it was Sir Terry himself. If you’ve never read any Discworld, you’re doing yourself a disservice. It’s satire of the highest order, and it’s wiser and funnier and just better than almost everything.
Never before has the death of a famous stranger saddened me as today’s news did. However, we must remember that a person isn’t gone till the ripples they’ve made have ceased, and I expect Terry Pratchett’s to travel and rebound and surge for quite some time.
Pratchett wrote about Death (not death, but Death, the anthropomorphic personification) often. I can think of nothing more comforting than to imagine Death, finally getting to meet the person who got him so right. “What can the harvest hope for, if not for the care of the Reaper Man?” It’s true, as was everything he wrote.