Thirty minutes ago, I began getting texts saying that Michael Jackson had died. Until it was confirmed by a reputable news source, I held on to the hope that it was just a rumor and that he would recover from whatever health problems that had befallen him.
Two minutes ago, his death was confirmed and my tears unexpectedly started to flow. For me, trying to imagine Michael Jackson lying lifeless is as painful as thinking of one of my own family members. I cannot explain why, because I am not a major follower of his, although I am in awe of his talent.
I mean, it's Michael Jackson. 2300 Jackson Street. Man in the Mirror. All the classics that I know and love and jam to. I can't fully wrap my mind around it. I cannot fathom his family's pain and loss. I feel like I know that family from having seen so much of them all my life.
I was uber-excited about going to see him August 10 in London with my “Aunt” S. I even argued this man down about the benefits versus the risks of traveling all the way to London JUST to see him.
Even with the alleged pedophilia, I still admired Michael Jackson's works of art. I never judged his idiosyncrasies or called him names because a jury deemed him not guilty. So at this surreal moment, I am heart-broken by Michael Jackson's passing. I am sad for his family and his millions of fans, especially the 750,000 ticket holders who anticipated his awesome concert. I am sad for my son and all the other children who will never fully understand Michael Jackson's greatness. I wish his soul peace and rest.
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