So, David Bowie died yesterday… and today we all found out about it. It sucks.  He sparkled — sometimes literally.  Hell, the work he left us to enjoy for the rest of time still sparkles.

It was 4 p.m. before I checked Facebook today, and the first thing that I learned was that David Bowie not only had passed away at the age of 69 (which, let’s be fair, is the age that I think he would have wanted by his name for all time – based entirely on how cheeky it is), but he had managed to release an album saying goodbye to his fans that he put together while battling terminal cancer. He even made one specific music video as a “finale.” Check it out.

If that doesn’t say, “Keep creating art, no matter what,” nothing does.

That’s why I’m writing right now, even though I know I’m not at my best.  These words, and whatever I manage to scratch down on paper or record to video or sound, will one day be all that is left of me for everyone else. All that will be left for Henry.

You don’t have to be terribly creative to leave important parts of yourself behind for others. My Poppy put together several scrapbooks, for example. They’re filled with comics and poetry and articles that meant something to him. I’m lucky enough to have 3. And when I miss him, the contents of those scrapbooks feel like a conversation that I get to have with him through space and time. They, in many ways, remind me of Facebook, and that similarity makes me hope that when I’m gone, Henry will be able to look through the thousands of posts on my timeline when he is missing me and feel like I’m still here for him.

They also make me wish that my other grandparents had kept journals or scrapbooks. And they make me hope that my parents might have the foresight and the time to do so as well.

Today, I had so many time-travel seizures that I honestly don’t remember the day, aside from Adam letting me know that I’d found out about Bowie’s death at least 9 times. Personally, that’s 9 times too many. But, hey, if I’ve got to be shocked and saddened at someone’s demise, at least it’s an artist whose work I have enjoyed since I was a small child.

He didn’t let cancer stop him from being the artist that he was — from giving all of us fans more music and poetry to enjoy for the rest of our lives… so, I’m not going to let MS and seizure disorder stop me from creating either — even if what I’m creating seems completely mundane to me at the time. I have to remember: it’s not mental masturbation; it’s not just for me; and no one else has my point of view. It’s exactly as true for you.

because