michael jackson with his son

michael jackson with his son

I heard the news. Michael Jackson is dead at 50 years old. And then I heard it again and again. I saw the streams of people who took off from work to drive to the hospital and crowd around the door. I saw the people openly weeping on city sidewalks around the globe. And I have this to say about it.

I, too, recognize the loss of Michael Jackson. I owned his albums. I danced his dances. He influenced my life.

But I never met him personally. Like many of the people who are “completely devastated” over his loss to stop their daily lives and grieve for him, I was impacted by his life.

But the reality is, my world did not, and does not, revolve around him. I wonder what’s missing from so many of these people’s lives that they would be so devastated by the death of a public figure who was worshipped by some and ridiculed by others. His persona is the stuff of legend. But in all honestly, my life goes on. It has not stopped. I have not lived my life for Michael, nor do I expect that his family would want me to.

Instead, his death has become a mirror of his life: a media circus. This is sad to me.

And at the same time, we mourn the loss of Farah Faucet. Except not really. It seems it is more appropriate to openly mourn for Michael Jackson to mourn for Farah, who was every bit as iconic. Every bit as important to us. Just as valuable and beloved by people. Unfortunately, her memory is left only in the shadows of Michael. And that is the greatest tragedy of all. One life should not be treated as though it has greater worth or value than another. It injures us all when we fail to take that into account.