Steve Jobs

by Anne Bennett on October 10, 2011

The two images were synonymous.

Whenever we lose a loved one or a friend, a primal part of the mourning process is for ourselves; we must face a lifetime without the person who was, for one reason or another, important to us. Death is the ultimate finality. There is no going back, no chance to say goodbye, or in my case, thanks.

I didn’t know Steve Jobs, but when he died last week at the age of 56, I felt a profound sense of loss. I own a Macbook computer, an iPhone and an iPad; I am 100% invested in the technology invented by Mr. Jobs and frankly, I’m feeling sorry for myself that he will never again rock my future with the next big Apple thing.

I get a thrill every time I enter an Apple store–the spartan, white techno-atmosphere coupled with the multitude of uber-cool, unshaven, T-shirted Apple “geniuses”, was as deliberately designed as every single Apple product; indeed, the entire Apple universe sprang directly from Jobs’ head. He was a a visionary and a genius, plain and simple.

In fact, stacking up one’s life to Steve Jobs’ leaves one feeling like an underachiever of the highest order.

While Steve Jobs was changing the world, I was making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and doing laundry. When I stop to congratulate myself for having raised two wonderful children, I am reminded that he’s had four children. I don’t know if they’re as great as my kids, but my inclination is that they must be. I’m not kidding myself here: they’re frigging Steve Job’s kids!

My pity party will continue until next Monday, when I schlep down to the Apple store and purchase the next generation iPhone, the 4S, which was introduced the day before Jobs died. I’ve been waiting quite awhile for this new version, but somehow I can’t imagine leaving the store with the same heady rush of having bought into the latest and greatest technology that has accompanied each of my past Apple purchases.

Things aren’t as certain as they used to be. Steve isn’t at the helm. I am sad, and as I said, my mourning is more about myself than it is about him.



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