Tuesday, July 7, 2009
just call my name, and I'll be there
I watched the Michael Jackson memorial service today. I was excited to see the performers and who was there and what would be said and to see a few renditions of his numbers.
I am the first to admit, I am a crier. I have been known to cry during winnie the pooh's grand adventure, every episode of the biggest loser, dance fever finales, and during most E! true hollywood stories. I went into today, however, with no expectation or intentions of crying.
You should have seen me by the end of the service. Uncontrollable blankets of tears. I can't remember last time I cried so hard.
This seems really strange to me. I didn't know Michael, obviously. I can't tell you every one of his songs; I was not even around for his prime. Right from the get-go, with Mariah Carey's song, I cried. Brooke Sheilds spoke. I cried. His brother spoke. Tears. His daughter spoke. Uncontrollable saddness.
Perhaps it is the fact that I had overlooked the simple truth of who he was; human. He had a family who loved him and little kids who don't have real parents or friends anymore.
He was just a guy who was terribly misunderstood his entire life.