Mourning a man I did not know...

BLOT: (11 May 2014 - 09:33:46 PM)

Mourning a man I did not know...

Tonight was a good night. Sarah and I celebrated Wife's Day (our take on Mothers Day) with some Eggplant Parmesan and wine, and watching some videos and talking to family on the phone. Saturday was a good day. We went out, ran some errands, hung out a bit. Friday, though, was the kind of day that just felt like crap. And it reached its absolute nadir when I got home.

About a week before, I had downloaded the then most recent Big Finish podcast. Big Finish is a company who makes audioplays, usually as an extension to a known franchise. Their chief money-maker is Doctor Who, which is primarily what I buy through them. The podcasts, an often chaotic mix of chat on- and off-topic, were actually the first real podcast I got into. The camaraderie and general geekiness were a good blend. I liked listening to them and walking around, or playing Minecraft, or whatever. At the time I got into them, there was a bit of a revolving door, but the three main guys were Nick Briggs (i.e., the voice of the Daleks on nuWho), David Richardson, and Paul Spragg. Briggs was the mad captain while Richardson was the voice of reason and Spragg was the delightful heart of the three, joking jostled for his accent—they often picked on him for pronouncing "forward" as "foe-word".

Over the months, Richardson grew too busy to participate much, and so Briggs and Spragg had become a double act, a mad captain and a playful heart, and the podcasts had simultaneously become weirder, less on-point, and occasionally more brilliant. I listened to every one. Spragg just made the day go by better, he was such a lovely man to hear talk about what he did and to read out fan letters and such.

That last podcast I mentioned? They mentioned him being sick. Then, Friday, I came home after a long and tiring day and read this: "It is with the deepest regret that we have to inform you of the death of our dear friend and highly valued colleague, Paul Spragg.". Jesus. The man was only a year or two older than me, a hard worker who still retained an utter delight in his job. Apparently everyone who worked with him absolutely adored him. And gone. It hit me harder than any celebrity death since Kurt Vonnegut's has. Not that Spragg was a celebrity, sort of the opposite of a celebrity, but you know what I mean.

It didn't help that his death was very similar to my father's—who died about this time of year, seven years ago—with a general downward tick suddenly escalating into a breathless seizure he never woke up from (though in my dad's case, it was apparently more obvious right from the start). At any rate, I broke down in tears and it was a few minutes before I could explain to a very worried Sarah what I was crying about.

I just wanted to take a moment to thank him for those podcasts, for once reading out one of my own letters, for corresponding politely and helpfully with a couple of behind-the-scenes technical issues that I had, and for generally being one of the good-uns. It is ludicrous that he is gone, but that is the way of things. It might be a while before I can sit down and play through the old podcasts, again. Despite being one of my favorite soul-refillers. I will eventually get back to it, I just need a moment.

Someone made this clip of Briggs and Spragg talking about the joy of hearing the voice of people who know are dead, and it's a bit beautiful and a bit melancholy, and I'll end this, there.