There's something about the finality of death which tends to leave me either relieved and/or immeasurably sad.
Beverly Sills died in July. And now, Luciano Pavarotti's just died of cancer. His career began long before I was born and I've listened to him my whole life. The beauty and sheer power of his voice has brought me to tears more times than I've kept count of although what I most love about him is that he singlehandedly did more than anyone else has done in recent times to make operatic arias accessible to the general public, and I can hardly believe that he'll never sing again.
Last week his voice was apparently a whisper; a comment on the BBC site says, "We are able to let go because Mr Pavarotti deserves respite from his suffering, and because we have his music to remember him by." I couldn't agree more.
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