It was the first post on my Instagram feed yesterday morning. And the very first thing I saw after waking up. I saw the word, written in white against pitch black; below a span of time - span of your time on earth. I did not have to read the caption. I knew what had happened. I know you were 95 years old. I know it was nothing out of the blue. I know you had lived a full life; you were loved, admired, worshiped by billions. And yet I couldn't stop those tears. No more cameos. Ever again. It was expected, wasn't it. People die. Even your superheroes do. And that's what makes life so special.

For many of us Marvel is not just about a bunch of fictional characters running around saving the universe from fictitious villains. For us, it's a way of living. It's a philosophy. It's hope. That no matter what our superheroes, who are as fallible as we are, are never going to leave us. End of the line. You have taught us that it is okay to be different. It is okay to be the odd man out in a sea of clones. You have taught us that no one was born a hero. It's rather an everyday fight to stay in the right path. You have taught us that with great power comes great responsibility. You have taught us that we never really lose our demons, we just learn to live above them.

It is end of an era for us. Someday, we too will sit with our children to introduce them to the magical world of Marvel and we will point our finger at an old, lanky man with an impish smile and tell our younger self, "See that man? That is our real superhero."

Rest in peace Stan Lee.


Google images