At first breath, it seems embarrassing to mourn the death of someone you don't know, especially when he knows so much about me. Through some intuitive notion that only the most gifted and brilliant minds can tap into, Steve Jobs, over the course of a few decades, knew how we all needed to interface technology before we ever knew we needed it. He realized the unlimited potential of computers not just to handle X amount of computations, but how they could affect our daily lives. Think about it this way: in roughly thirty years, he took a computer out of a room, put it on a desk, and then put it in my pocket. And I sadly cannot fathom living without it.
His death should be acknowledged not just by Apple fanboys (of which my MacBook Pro, iPhone and iPad out me as) but by anyone who has ever come in contact with a computer. Without him, we could be staring at terminals. Without him, we wouldn't have a mouse interface. Without him, we wouldn't have serif fonts. Without him, we wouldn't have been able to learn as thoroughly as we did as children. The list goes on and on, getting monumentally more staggering the further you drop into this thought process. It's not hyperbole to say that he is the face of modernity. And he passed away at 56.
There will never be another Steve Jobs just like there will never be another Einstein or Edison. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't strive to be just like him: bold, brash, and confident in his vision. He gave us the tools to change the world. We best not let him down.
I'll let him have the final word, from his 2005 Stanford Commencement Speech: