Monday Mourning: Missing Michael

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I miss Michael Jackson. Not Thriller Michael, not Bad Michael. I miss screaming on Earth SongBreak of Dawn Tell the Angels No Invincible Michael, when fame was swallowing him whole, he sang about love…I’m not a music critic by a long shot but I honor what speaks to my soul. I’m not sure why Michael is pulling at my spirit now. Maybe it’s the wonder of what could have been. I miss his genius, not the finished product but the genius in process as we witnessed in This Is It…I stayed until all the credits rolled and looked back at the screen at least three times when I walked out, wanting for more…What would Michael sing about now? Would he sing? Would we love him in life as much as we cherish him in death? The transformation from fodder to tributes is a magnificent sight to behold. It is a reminder that nothing living is sacred, everything is vulnerable…

Maybe my missing Michael stems from watching my seven year old son learn to play guitar, witnessing the process of a Black boy fall in love with music, always searching for the balance of teaching him to work hard, practice but not steal his joy, relish in it, sing with him, be in awe of him, hope the words “I love to play the guitar…” are always able to be uttered, that music never becomes a burden. I hope when time, moments are too much to bare, music is there offering escape, expansion, infinite healing… I hope homework dance breaks and soul train lines are always intoxicating push his cheeks to ears and reveal all of his teeth, allowing him to exhale…breath without expectation or consequence…

Maybe I’m mourning all we have lost and when you want to curl under the covers of comfort and shut out the world but you must press on anyhow, face the day because there’s work to be done now more than ever, Michael’s music is still a healing balm on the morning walk before you tuck away your heartache so others can lean on your shoulder…

I am indeed mourning the giants who proved they were mere mortals despite mountains of evidence that proved otherwise. I am missing their next creation. With each ascension, my childhood becomes more of a memory, no longer living and breathing. It is what was as the weight of the world shifts on my shoulders, wondering what healing balm will I create….

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