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A fellow game developer died

I'm close friends with the fellow game dev team upstairs on the 14th floor. Every time either of our teams has something to celebrate, we invite each other. We share in each others happinesses and struggles. We have a good camaraderie.

Today, I learned that Doug passed away.
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*sigh*
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He was so young. He was about my age.
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He was the smileyest guy on their team.
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He went to have heart surgery last Monday and died on Friday from complications.
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Damn.
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How fucked up is that? That you could be talking to someone one day, and they're dead and gone the next? Forever! I know the reaper comes for all of us, but it's a lot harder when it is so unexpected and sudden.
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How do you deal with that? On one hand, you've got the grief. That's the hardest. Then you've got the team members who are also grieving. Then you've got the game project. To say, "The show must go on!" is what must eventually happen. To do that, you've got to do a transition of responsibilities. Shit. They were a four man team, now they're down to three. He was their coding heavy weight. The guy who could do it all. You can't just farm that out evenly to the rest of the team. They're also pretty much broke, so you can't hire replacements. How do you pick up the pieces and make the show go on? How weird will it be to look at his source code and see his comments? In a way, it's a part of him. And eventually as the code evolves, you're going to have to delete some of those comments? In a way, we all have threads of evidence which suggested we existed. One by one, those threads are erased over time. But you owe it to Doug to see the project through to the end.
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Well, Doug worked on this game for the last few years. He wanted to "make something fun". He got to see the beta launch of the game he worked so hard on. He did what he dreamed of doing -- and when it comes to life and dreams, that's kind of rare... Things like this make us think, "what if I'm next?" and hopefully compel us examine our own life closely.

I know I'll be drinking a coffee in Doug's memory today. Damn, I wish I never had to write something like this.

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