It was very still and dark last Thursday night, yet I had no impending sense of the doom about to befall. I sat at my desk playing Text Twist while I waited for Bryan to come online. Around 11pm I heard Skype's musical queue and abandoned my word scrambling to answer Bryan's call. Then it happened. Everything... stopped. Mac's screen turned pale gray like a face on a deathbed. His last words, "You must restart." I obediently turned him off, but he made no effort to turn back on for me. I felt like a doctor duped into an assisted suicide. I grasped his metal casing which I never cleaned or loved enough during his short life and cried, "Don't leave me!! You can't leave me like this!!" That night I repeatedly tried to turn Mac on, but it was too late. The flatline was buzzing; Mac was gone.
I went to bed dreading the arrangements I'd have to make for Mac's remains in the morning. At least I had finally (for the first time) backed up all my data last month. I thought about how kind it was that God didn't let me lose all my digital photos and illustrations. I'm sure those things are not essential to His life-plan for me, but he made sure I had them backed up before this happened. I was touched. We had a moment.
Friday morning I groggily stumbled to my desk out of habit and opened up Mac--then I sighed remembering the night before. One more try... I pressed the button and plastered my ear to the keyboard hoping to hear the whirring sounds of life inside. I did! I was shocked! I waited and watched as Mac started up just fine. I half expected to see him display an error message that said "Psych!" I never knew Mac was a prankster, but he got me good that night. I'm already thinking of ways that I can get him back--like downloading Windows Media Player or pricing new Macs online.