I dag er jeg litt trist. Hittil har jeg klart å holde stand og ikke la meg rive for mye med av medias dekning av Michael Jacksons dødsfall, men i dag… I dag er det ikke like lett. I dag ble det holdt minneseremoni, og synet av kisten og hans gråtende datter tok meg med litt større kraft enn jeg hadde forutsett.

Og jeg er trist. Trist for familien hans, barna hans, og trist for ham.

Jeg var aldri noen stor fan. Men han har alltid vært der. Helt fra jeg oppdaget musikk og frem til nå. Han har vært en del av ungdomstida mi, og det knytter seg mange minner til sangene hans. Med ham dør også litt av fortida mi. Den virker enda litt mer borte nå som en av lenkene tilbake er brutt.

En amerikansk poet ved navn Maya Angelou skrev et dikt som ble lest i minneseremonien i kveld. We had him. Vi hadde ham.

Og det er rart med det. Jeg visste ikke at han var en så stor del av livet mitt før nå.

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.