SuperGenius author and entertainer Michael Crichton died this week. He was 66. Cancer killed him.  Unfortunately
— Michael kept his illness a secret from the public — and we take
issue with that selfish hiding as we argued earlier this week on RelationShaping:

understand the want to keep your sickness to yourself — but when
you’re famous and when you require the goodwill and the readership of
the people to keep you in business, I sort of feel you’re required to
give them a chance to say goodbye to you since they are the ones that
gave wealth to your life….

Celebrity is a difficult
line to tread. You cannot expect privacy for yourself, but you can
demand it for your non-famous children and family members. When you
choose to make a living in the public eye and in the wallets of your
readers and fans — your life belongs to them, not you — and you owe
them the same honesty and consideration that you provide your immediate
family because that’s the meme that’s created with fame: You want the
spotlight and the riches and the adoration and once you get it, you
belong to those other than you.

We miss Michael
Crichton already — but we cannot help but knowing in our lives what he
missed in his death — he bungled his epilogue and stained his
greatness forevermore.