First we lose Gygax, the guy who taught us never to trust a Mind Flayer, never bugger a Bugbear and to always make certain you were more intelligent than your Vorpal Blade.
Now, we've lost Sir Arthur C. Clarke. He was the first author I ever actively seeked as a babe-in-the-woods science fiction reader; he's the man who gave us the HAL9000 and Rama and "Childhood's End" and something like over 100 other books, plus things like geosynchronous orbits before such a thing was feasible. He passed on yesterday at age 90, a ripe, good age to die at, but dangit, why not another few years, another few books?
All I can say is Bradbury, you'd sure better be doing your exercises and taking your meds exactly as prescribed. We've already lost Heinlein and Phil Dick and now Clarke, we can't be losing another Grand Master.