The babies were sleeping. Ocean waves came in through the monitor. The sunlight hit my skin. I checked my Facebook account over my phone and there I read status update after status update that Michael Jackson died. I called my mother she already knew.
I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t be in shock. Thoughts went through my mind like the Michael Jackson posters I put on my wall. Like the Thriller jacket I wore in fourth grade. Got teased but still wore it. I thought about the Thriller album and the Bad! video. I thought about the moonwalk and my love for Michael. I forgot about his skin bleaching, his nose jobs, his straightened hair. I remembered his voice and his smile. I remembered singing Man in the Mirror in a school production with my classmates. I remembered the group my family attended for depressed Cubans in Miami who took too many pills and finished each session with We are the World. I remembered how he made my heart beat and gave me dancing feet. I remembered loving Michael, not understanding Michael, learning how to be compassionate towards Michael. I was just remembering Michael. I thought about the articles I read that he took his shahada last year. And I hoped it was true because no matter what religion or spiritual path someone chooses what is important to me is that everyone on this planet has inner peace and self love. I pray that in Michael’s final hour he was at peace and was connected to the Creator, the universe and himself. I thought about his struggles, man, his struggles, like we all have them but maybe not that public. I thought about the pain. I pray that he is at peace.
It is interesting that in 2009 I no longer have a TV but am still connected. I check my phone and my friends in California, New York and in different pockets of the world keep me informed with their status updates on Facebook. I don’t even have to read the news because my friends have already informed me. I wondered for a quick second if I was wrong for not acknowledging his death on my status update. A quick second. I am making brownies and listening to the Michael Jackson Ultimate Collection. I am remembering my love for Michael in my own way. I try to dance but I feel a little off doing it. I can not cry and I wonder if it’s because I look at death so differently now.
I haven’t even been able to talk to someone about it but I am part of a virtual mourning. All over the world where a song is playing one will probably be hearing a Michael Jackson song. This is bigger than Elvis’ death, bigger than Diana, poor Farrah, bigger than hers. It’s 2009 and most of us won’t be able to go to wherever his services are but we can watch it on TV, our phones, our computers. When we get together in PERSON and reminisce our very own Michael Jackson memory we will probably moonwalk to each other or Yee-Hee every once in awhile. For many people in my age group, the thirties, Michael Jackson represented our very own love for music. For many of us our Thriller album was our very first album.
Michael, may the angels be with you. May you have light. May you have peace. May you know that you are and will always be loved.