It’s a curious phenomenon: when someone who has made an indelible impression on us dies, they leave behind a vacuum. And there’s this strange ambivalence. It’s almost as if it depends on which filter or prism we view it through: with one, we get an impression of their absence by what’s missing from being around them; through the other we perceive the greatness of the person, their memory, by observing the lasting echoes and ripples they have left behind in the fabric of our lives. We can perceive the vacuum or void left behind, or the echoes and ripples, but not both at the same time.