h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

The following text is an email I sent to my personal mailing and discussion list (PANICtm) this morning. It was written in a bit of a hurry, so please excuse the shoddy grammar and inadequate expression.

*** *** ***

I found out yesterday (Sunday).

I was studying and my mother came up to my door and said: "Hey Patrick, you know that writer you like?" and I said: "Who, Douglas Adams?" and she said: "Yeah, well he just died, it said on the news." I flung open the door and said: "What?" and she said: "He died."

I was utterly horrified. "People die, Patrick, it has to happen eventually," said my mother and went back to whatever it was she had been doing. She is obviously not sensitive to facial expression because I was in horrible, horrible pain. A few seconds later she came back into my room because she heard me crying and a few seconds after that I was sobbing into my mother's chest for what must have been the first time since I was a f___ing toddler. I cried and cried and cried and I couldn't make it stop. I kept on going out to the kitchen to get tissues and whenever I stepped back into my room, I started crying even harder because there are Douglas Adams books sitting in it.

People I know - people I actually know - have died before and it hasn't affected me. People die. Big deal. I'm never going to see them again. No problem. But Douglas Adams - he wasn't just a part of my life, he was a part of me. So much of my personality is the result of his influence. He helped build my brain. More than C S Lewis, more than Oscar Wilde, more than anybody. And now Douglas Adams is dead. There will never be another Dirk Gently book. He will never write another word because he is dead. And I think this is the saddest thing that has ever happened to me, ever.

Forty-nine years old. Forty f___ing nine.

It's not fair, at all. I'm very, very sad.

All the accidents I've ever had and all the girls who have broken my heart cannot compare to this. I am in such pain. It's totally unexpected and not pleasant.

Anyway, I could do with a hug.

I have to admit, I didn't cry. But then, I don't cry at anything. I think I have defective tear ducts. I'm finding it quite hard to countenance actually. I keep expecting DNA to pop into H2G2 and go "SUPRISE" and make me feel very very happy again. It's a sort of numbness, I think.

You'll get through it. So will I.

I didn't cry, but that's just because of a hardened shell developed through years of abuse and mistreatment by everyone that's not supposed to do that sort of thing. What ticked me off was that he got a small section of the paper, and noone at the local paper even bothered to write anything. They just used a small Associated Press article and went about their way.

I don't feel that badly, for one reason : regardless of his death, he will live on forever. I know that as soon as they can read actual novels, my children and my brother's children and any grandchildren anywhere will be introduced to the book. I'm sure this is how many people feel. Even if this isn't the case, the book will always be known as long as people live who are literate and like to be entertained. I just hope Douglas knew how many people he had changed, and how many lives he had affected. I didn't, until I saw the frequency at which messages were posted about him on the official site.

I have kept a tally mark for every time I have read the whole Hitchhiker series through, from the first book to "Mostly Harmless," and I currently have 132 tallies. There would be more, but I frequently read one book or the other just to pass some time. I've read the Dirk Gently series about as many times.

He has had a major impact on the world; a band called NOFX released an album called "So Long, And Thanks For All The Shoes" (a reference to both Douglas Adams and the inoardinate number of shoes that have been thrown at them while they play live), and many have songs named after the books and/or about the books (the Revolver Outlaws - "Don't Panic" and Death West Coast - "I'm On The Moon of Kakrafoon").

This is a bad year to be an idol of mine and be 49; both Douglas and Joey Ramone have died this year at age 49.

Wherever he is, I'm sure some deity is thanking him for all the laughs.

Thanks, guys.

The crying thing really did take me by surprise. I don't usually cry. Like I said, people I actually know have died before and it hasn't bothered me. People are alive, they are a part of your life, then they die and they aren't anymore. I don't have a problem with that. Why would I? Douglas Adams, though - he was in me, you know what I mean? He was a very, very big part of who I am. My friend Beck put it rather well: Douglas Adams was - and is, I suppose - like my intellectual father. He shaped my brain and played a very big part in making me who I actually am. I suppose if I had been alive when Jack Lewis or Oscar Wilde died I would have cried too, but I wasn't: to me, they have always been dead people. But Douglas Adams - he was very much alive and I expected him to remain so for quite a while longer. He didn't and that really, really bites.

So, I cried. I sobbed. I couldn't stop and it was weird. My mother put her arms around me and I didn't find it pleasant but she was the only other human available, so I let it all out. And now, a few days later, I feel a lot better. There are people - I have discovered - who have had similar experiences, whether with Douglas Adams or somebody else. My friends have given me hugs. So have complete strangers. So hurrah for that. Douglas Adams is still dead.

Ah well. Ah well.

He is a part of me, though. Bits of his brain are in my brain. And other bits are in your brains. Maybe if we gathered together all the Douglas Adams fans in the world, we would have - collectively - his entire brain, one way or another. Which means - as romantic as this might sound - that we are his legacy. Douglas Adams the person is gone now. The only place he exists is in us, together. We have, all of us, the realest Douglas Adams that exists in this universe. Let's not waste him. Let's put him to good use. What a tragedy, otherwise.

Normally I only cry at trivial things, like sad movies. Bizarre.

Thanks again for the understanding. My final word of advice is this: Watching Grave of the Fireflies for the first time the day after you find out that Douglas Adams has died is not the greatest idea in the world. But heck, go ahead and do it if you really want to. Suffering can be a beautiful thing. Oscar Wilde told me so. So long, Douglas Adams, and thanks for - well - pretty much everything except dying.

Don't panic!