There aren’t many things that can make me as sad as the news about Terry Pratchett’s death. As if it was yesterday, my mother bought me the first of his books I own – Mort. Probably a bit to early since I didn’t understand it or find it interesting. Mr. Kidsby’s illustrations were more interesting to me at that period.
It was years later I got the book again and actually read it. Since that moment I’ve bought every single one published in my country and not only the ones from the Discworld but masterpieces like the Nomes trilogy, Johnny and the bomb, etc. It has always been the same – reading until I fell to sleep or have to wake up. I don’t remember having a book for more than three days before I finish it. All of them were like a movie, you don’t want to put it down because the world, the story drags you in so deep, you become part of it.
Although I’ve never had the chance to meet Sir Pratchett in person and get a book signed, I miss him so much already as if I’ve lost a family member.
The only thing that gives me some comfort are Larry Finlay’s words:
He died at home, surrounded by his family, with his cat sleeping on his bed.
Goodbye old friend, I will really, really miss you 🙁