As one who prides herself on her nature of obsession, I can understand what it means for millions of fans to have their favorite, whomever or whatever that may be, come to a screeching halt. Without notice, abruptly drawing to a close we never asked for. An infinite realm of stars comprise our celebrity solar system. Then there are television series, fictional trilogies and sagas that force us to recognize what is feels like to have and to lose. Maybe it all seems so trivial at times, but we invest money, time and tireless effort in allowing these things to completely captivate us and have us spinning. So when they go, a glimpse into a tell-all year or elongated moment in time elude us. We are going to see a multitude of people go within our lifetime, but what happens when you have to count the stars?
Michael Jackson, the world renowned King of Pop, passed on the day of my sixth-grade graduation dance and my sister's prom. The air was thick and hot with the June sun towering over us and so were the tears that dripped down my mother’s face that summer afternoon. The news of his death came quickly as curls were unraveled and eye shadow was powdered onto my sister’s top lids. I wondered why the world’s greatest have to die. But it soured my insides even more when I caught a look at my surrounding family all holding back painful sighs and whimpers. “Of all days?” I thought. “Michael Jackson had to die on the day of my sister’s prom?”
We all made it through the dressing period. I was whisked off to the dance in style whilst my mom fiddled with the radio knobs waiting to align herself with the song that withstood time. It wasn’t “Beat It” nor “Thriller,” although those were obvious top choices. She searched frantically for “Wings of My Love” amidst sporadic bouts of real grief. June 25, 2009 is a date that exists in pure bittersweetness.
All were mourning in their own unique way: the DJ blasted old hits as excited sixth graders imitated the zombie-like dance moves of a lost legend and chaperones who grew up shouting his lyrics dapped soft tissues on their cheeks reminiscently. My mother still speaks of the day and the period of immense sadness that followed like it happened some moments ago. To her, there will never be another.
Robin Williams’ smile still makes the corners of my mouth turn up in glee. His comedic stunts and quotes that wrenched the heart in “Goodwill Hunting” subsist on.
I felt a similar sense of shock when word escaped online that David Bowie had indeed gone on to what awaited him. The dead of night crept over me like some cruel leech. “Not in my lifetime,” I murmured. But when I rolled over the next morning, sources had confirmed the reports. Colors of the pop sensation dripped down my timelines and feeds. The void formed, but the transcendent powers of all of the images I was seeing filled me with familiarity. That resounding tunnel song titled “Heroes” still grips me with that same weight and whatever David Bowie has left us will surely keep me in infinite spirits.
Alan Rickman went four days later. I tried to live down the multitude of talent that flooded my thoughts. I failed. I couldn’t shake scenes in which Rickman gifted us with his refined sass from my mind. Sheathed in black and winged with magic, Professor Snape lives on as the byronic hero of my childhood.
Prince came this April--just last week that is. None of us expected the fateful news on April 21st. None of us had prepared ourselves for the man who bypassed the gender binary and played into its continuous flow to escape us so soon. That following morning, I slipped back into a heavy state of emotion. But all of the purple in New York City stood out. I hummed “Purple Rain” and felt its hymnal beauty lift me into reality.
They all go. We all go too. We mothers. We fathers. The pets. The children. The activists. Those teachers. We are all stars in our own dimensions. We will all withstand this weighted absence and go on to memorialize them in all of the actions we commit for all todays and tomorrows. Yeah, I try my very hardest to remain in this bubble of the sometimes jarred optimism. All good things rise and fall. To all good lovers of all things great, remember: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.” Thanks Prince.
