That I should rise and you should not...

“Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.”
- Isaac Asimov

Before I begin, I must note that in my attempt to write a serious eulogy for my deceased computer, I might have digressed into overly-dramatic-verging-on-comedic territory. It appears that even when I attempt to write something without overt sarcasm or humor, I still achieve something as funny if not simply bizarre. I thought it wise to take Shakespeare’s advice in Macbeth and convey my grief and loss through words (“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.”) I might have been wrong. No matter what, this is my attempt to overcome the loss of a valued and near constant companion - as ridiculous as that may sound.

Ladies, Gentlemen, Computer, Robots, Electrical Appliances.....
I remember it well: my first glimpse of the desktop named Mikey; plastic wrapped and secured with Styrofoam in a cow-print box. I remember Mikey always got the front seat on road-trips and got to spend the night in whatever hotel room I had. No matter where I lived at the moment, Mikey always occupied a table or counter at some prominent position. For nearly 18 months, Mikey was the only device I owned that played DVDs. I don’t need to explain how important that was.

Working until the very last moment, Mikey always gave his all. Although 3 years is an eternity in such a technologically forward society, Mikey stayed spry. He was far too young to die. Perhaps because he always gave his all, we forget his young age. Never balking at the late hours I spent working or the fact that I constantly procrastinated on whatever assignments I currently had, Mikey toiled unrelentingly. Although in reality he may not have been exactly distinctive to others, Mikey was unique to me and I will not forget all of those long hours of collaboration.

In the end, though, I realize that no matter how much I wish it didn’t happen, Mikey no longer remembers anything. As Thomas Mann, wrote “A man's dying is more the survivors' affair than his own.” So it is with a heavy heart that I begin the training of Apollo and try to pick up the pieces of my broken technological life; I’m sure it is what Mikey, living it up in whatever afterlife computers enjoy, would want me to do. But for just a moment, if you can, please join me in raising one final glass to the memory of such a beloved comrade.