I’m not supposed to be writing this blog entry.
Not this one. Not now. Maybe 35 years from now, but not now.
And I do not want to write this blog, but I have to.
Cause I loved Michael Jackson. I love Michael Jackson. Michael Joseph Jackson.
It’s been nearly two weeks and I’m still heavy.
The air is thick and everything is moving in slow motion.
I’m stunned and shocked. My heart is broken.
I never imagined a world without Michael Jackson.
His music is the soundtrack to my life.
To say that I’m in pain is an understatement.
Michael’s been a part of my life, all of my life.
Like driving down south every summer and eating cream of wheat,
He's always been there. Always.
He’s in my DNA.
His music is solace for me.
It’s where I go when things fall apart.
1974: There’s me, 5, and my cousin with our hair brushes singing ‘Got to be there’ in the bathroom mirror.
1980: There's me, watching the 'Don't stop til you get enough' video swearing to my mother that Michael was going to be my husband.
1981: There’s me, 12 yrs. old, in Madison Square Garden watching Michael and his brothers give me the experience of a lifetime.
1982: There I am, home from the hospital, with a new copy of the 'Thriller' album. Happy beyond belief.
1983: There's me and my family, mouths agape, watching Motown 25.
There were scrapbooks. The leather Thriller jacket. The White Gloves. The buttons. The bubble gum wrappers. The newspaper clippings.
The endless copies of Black Beat, Right ON! Magazine and Nana’s Ebony's and Jet's.
1986: There’s me sharing my love for Michael with the whole world underneath my high school yearbook photo. LOVES MICHAEL JACKSON! it said. And I did.
1993: There's me remembering the time.
There’s the records sold, stadiums filled, world records broken.
There's the way he singlehandedly changed music and entertainment as we
know it.
But more importantly, it’s the way he made us, made me feel.
2001: There's me, hearing 'Butterflies' for the first time.
And thinking 'There's my Michael. He still has it.'
2005: There's me cheering his acquittal. Proclaiming his innocence.
He's the barometer that I use to measure excellence.
Whenever someone does or says something stellar, or magnificient,
I always say ‘Uh-oh, you better do it, Michael Jackson!'
No matter what changes he'd made, or what he was going through,
when he opened his mouth, that Michael Jackson came out.
That sweet, soothing, familiar, sound.
2009: I'm still here. But instead of witnessing his comeback,
I'm reeling from his loss.
Dear Michael:
I haven’t had time to process your passing. It all happened so suddenly.
But I want to thank you for all you’ve given me, given everyone.
I want you to know that I was always there.
From the afro to the flip.
From 'ABC' to 'Invincible'.
From the Grammy's to the courthouse.
I was there.
I learned those runs. I heard you ride the bassline.
I know the harmonies. I saw you.
You remind me of May from the 'Secret Life of Bees'.
You were too sweet for this world.
I want you to know that you were my first love.
And because of you, I dared to dream.
You ARE magic!
Pure. Kind. Gentle. Giving. Loving. Magical. Mystical. Ethereal. Wonderful. Beautiful. Amazing. Michael.
There will never be another.
I’m blessed to have lived to witness your brilliance.
You are more than a legend. More than a genius. You’re a movement.
Thank you for making a little girl from Newark, New Jersey, dream in color.
Thank you for everything, Michael Jackson.
Rest in Peace, Beloved. I love you.
