Dean Barnett is dead at the age of 41 from Cystic Fibrosis.
This is a post I do not want to write, because there is always the chance that when you write these eulogies, some jackass will decide that now is the appropriate time to lace your comments section with expletives about the deceased. Be warned- those sentiments will be deleted.
But back to the point- Dean Barnett is dead, and I am sad. He more than likely has no idea who I am, and there really is no reason he should. My opinions of him mirror the trajectory of my own opinions regarding politics in general – I am too lazy to look, but I am sure I waxed rhapsodic about the things he wrote when I agreed with him in the early days of this blog, and recently, when my opinion of his thinking slipped, I referred to him less politely as Hugh Hewitt’s jockstrap or other less pleasant things (and perhaps that says more about me than it does about Dean). In some respect, I agree with Spencer Ackerman, although I would not change anything I said, and I doubt Barnett would have cared.
But that is neither here nor there. What matters is that he is dead, and life is too short. Not a day passes when I do no ponder my own mortality, and not a day passes without me wondering how I will continue without my parents and the people who mean everything to me. A very selfish part of me hopes that I die before them.
Life is too damned short, and right now Dean Barnett’s family and friends are going through hell. I hope they are able to cope, and I am going to call my parents and tell them I love them and then hug my cat. I suggest you do the same thing with the ones you love. This whole racket is just way too short, and at times is a cruel hoax. Forty-one is just way too damned young.
RIP, Dean Barnett.
To donate to to the Cystic Fibrosis foundation go here. I just sent $50 bucks in Dean’s name, and I hope you will toss out a few dollars, as well. We are all human. This show is just way too god damned short.