I got word today that my online friend, Les Jenkins, passed away. He was suffering from too-late-diagnosed pancreatic, et al. cancer, knew he was dying soon, and, after a few weeks of hospice care, did.
Dammit.
Les started his “Stupid Evil Bastard” blog a little bit after I started this one. We crossed path fairly early on, ended up being fairly regular commenters back and forth in different social media, and eventually developed one of those weird Internet friendships that the 21st Century has wrought. We never met in person, I regret to say, but we discussed things online, we chatted online back and forth, we actually talked on the telephone multiple times (as we older folk do), and we even did, over the last decade, several podcasts/vlogs where we just nattered on about politics and pop culture and philosophy and life.
And now, as they say, he’s gone.
Les was smart and clever. He was a deft hand at PC technology, that being his career path. He had a dry sense of humor, and a deep devotion to the people and causes he held dear. He no pretenses to personal virtue (thus the name of his blog), but never became utterly cynical about human nature (thus the subtitle to his blog, “What the fuck is wrong with you people?”
Les was a firm atheist. He’d reached that conclusion through consideration and logic and reasoning. He could be merciless in dealing with theists (usually fundies) who would come to his site to debate him or, worse, preach at him. Yet even though I’m not of that persuasion, he never subjected me to his razor tongue, probably because I wasn’t interested in debating him on the subject. We’ll all eventually learn the truth (or not be in a position to care about it), and both of us were willing to play that long game.
Which turned out to be far shorter for Les than it should have been.
So on the one hand, it would be presumptuous of me to consider him in any sort of afterlife, looking down with that crooked smirk at the world. But my own belief, or weakness, as someone who believes in such an afterlife (though clueless as to how it’s constituted), is to hope that someday I’ll get a chance to sit down with him, in “person” this time, and chat over what he’s learned. He’s definitely the sort of company I’d want in such a state.
And, of course, if he was right, neither of us will know otherwise. So either way, it’s all fine.
I’ve lost family members over the years. I was there when my dad passed. But Les — a peer, a friend, someone who went from “Oh, hey, another tweet” to “he’s gone” in a seeming heartbeat — that’s a wake-up call to the transitory nature of life, a reminder of the mortality of anyone (self included).
Discussions of death should be about the subject who’s gone, but inevitably are about the person writing about them.
Anyway …
… thanks, Les. You helped me through some PC tech issues, sure. You engaged me in interesting conversation and consideration of my own beliefs. You were a friendly presence in my life, and my life was better for you being in it. Even without an afterlife, your impact on others around you lives on. Rest in peace, sir.
