I find that in the deaths of humans we understand the depths of their humanity. A life cannot be looked upon in full until the last drop of saliva dries and they can say no more. As the clay hardens on their sculpture, others will look back and offer the impact and imprint their lives left. Some of the deceased will be looked upon fondly, souls remembered for time, while others' legacies will be left to rot, forgotten and damned.

I think of this because David Carr, the New York Times Critic and Champion of Media, passed away on February 12, 2015, from apparent lung cancer and heart complications. Carr, based on his syllabus (a must read) from a class he taught at Boston University's communications school, described himself as "a terrible singer and a decent dancer. He is a movie crier but stone-faced in real life. He never laughs even when he is actually amused. He hates suck-ups, people who treat waitresses and cab drivers poorly, and anybody who thinks diversity is just an academic conceit. He is a big sucker for the hard worker and is rarely dazzled by brilliance. He has little patience for people who pretend to ask questions when all they really want to do is make a speech."

I've read Carr a number of times (most recently his great column on the Brian Williams scandal) as his memorable face dotted the top of his articles, though I've never been a true follower. But the number of different articles and moments that people distinctly remembered provide so much evidence of his impact. He battled demons like the rest of us and lived to tell the tale. He was sincerely an inspiration to so many, struggling journalists and creatives, powerful media, and his peers revered him.

Upon our deaths, this is what we hope we leave.

R.I.P.