I'm halfway watching the memorial to Michael Jackson, who died a week and a half ago as he was preparing to launch his comeback/retirement tour. And I just got a glimpse of his brothers, who were the pallbearers, all wearing MJ's signature sparkly glove on one hand.
In the time since his death, it's been wall to wall coverage of Mike, a lot of it good, fitting, loving tributes to a man who had such an impact on so many people and to music as we know it. I remember the night he died, I had to run back to the newsroom to get by badge. A copy editor remarked that it was hard to imagine what music will be like without him.
"He's the king," I said. "Music is the way it is because of him."
The copy editor agreed (and added James Brown, which I concurred with) and we went about our way.
I'm not going to wax poetic about Mike. I thought he was great and enjoyed his music, a realization I came to only after his death. As radio stations and televisions played his songs in constant rotation, I found myself unable to control my dancing. My joy. Controversial, troubled or not, MJ was a genius who brought so much fun to his music. And you felt it with every beat.
This wasn't what I planned to write about today, but I can't think of anything else. I sit across from the TV in the newsroom and I feel like my eyes have been glued to the screen (with barely no sound) all afternoon.
Just kinda wish this all wasn't happening.
We Had Him
Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing, now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind.
Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace. Sing our songs among the stars and walk our dances across the face of the moon.
In the instant that Michael is gone, we know nothing. No clocks can tell time. No oceans can rush our tides with the abrupt absence of our treasure.
Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone.
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him.
He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance.
Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that.
He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his.
We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes.
His hat, aslant over his brow, and took a pose on his toes for all of us.
And we laughed and stomped our feet for him.
We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing. He gave us all he had been given.
Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana's Black Star Square.
In Johannesburg and Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama, and Birmingham, England
We are missing Michael.
But we do know we had him, and we are the world.
- Maya Angelou
Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace. Sing our songs among the stars and walk our dances across the face of the moon.
In the instant that Michael is gone, we know nothing. No clocks can tell time. No oceans can rush our tides with the abrupt absence of our treasure.
Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone.
Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him.
He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance.
Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that.
He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his.
We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes.
His hat, aslant over his brow, and took a pose on his toes for all of us.
And we laughed and stomped our feet for him.
We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing. He gave us all he had been given.
Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana's Black Star Square.
In Johannesburg and Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama, and Birmingham, England
We are missing Michael.
But we do know we had him, and we are the world.
- Maya Angelou
