The news came just after dinner in Boston. The grown-ups were in the kitchen still eating, my 16-year-old son had finished first and asked to be excused. He was in the dining room on the MacBook Pro.
"Did you see this?," he called, "Steve Jobs RIP?"
"No!" I said, leaving the table and my programmer husband behind. "That can't be right, let me look."
I went to Twitter -- it was spilling across the screen like blood.
"Oh no," I said.
We were warned and we all had friends who were one or two connections away, so we knew Steve Jobs was very sick, but we just didn't want to think of a world without him.
"I figured he wasn't the kind of CEO who hands over a company easily," my husband said as he came into the dining room to join us, "in August, that news, that he was stepping down, it was almost worse."
We were just not ready to even imagine it. It's one leap of faith and imagination Steve could not help us make. He'd helped us imagine a brave new world of computing, but not this.
RIP Steve Jobs.