At first I wasn’t going to write anything about Michael Jackson – maybe because I was completely overwhelmed with the paralyzing combination of shock and grief that I couldn’t even think of the words to begin this blog entry. Even as I write now (some 24 hours after hearing the devastating news of Michael Jackson’s passing), a tight knot of anguish continues to stretch across my chest. The energetic sounds of his music with images of his smiling face continue to poster my mind. I’ve never met Michael Jackson, never held a single conversation with him or seen him in person.
Just as millions of others (I would imagine), I’ve always felt connected to Michael Jackson and he has always been a part of my life; not just as a living legend or a symbol of the arts and American culture – but as a real-life person. Michael Jackson’s voice, warmth, presence and even his artistic awkwardness has earned a fond and familiar place in my heart since early childhood. This is the first Friday in my life without him and there is definitely a gaping hole somewhere inside of me that sorely aches with mourning as I struggle to accept his life and legacy as a part of the past.
My only consolation comes with my perspective that though Michael Jackson’s life dazzled with unprecedented, universal success and notoriety, he was also a very lonely, troubled, alienated individual who suffered from the residue of abuse and unaddressed psychological turmoil connected to his past as well as physiological distress. Now, that pain is over. Through the tears I shed today, I have given myself permission to say goodbye to Michael Jackson. With the gifts God gave him, he turned his 50 years into forever. Rest in peace, Michael – I love you.
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