Never can say goodbye...

Even on my days off, I tend to get up quite early. It is in these still dark and silent world moments, I have found it is often the best time to write...to express true thoughts. The day has not clouded my mind with tedious remembrances or forced me to realize I am getting another day older...that I have wasted another chance at being a better man.
But when I woke up this morning, something was off and I couldn't tell what it was...
Did I miss work? Did I say something to somebody I shouldn't have? Did I forget something?
That was it...I forgot...
I forgot a true legend of my generation died. For a moment, I lost track that a man who consumed so many people during my childhood, was no more.
I never thought I would be upset or near tears over the death of a celebrity (other than Ronald Reagan), but I find myself more bothered by his death today than only a few hours ago. I wouldn't go so far as to say I am heart stricken, but what I am feeling is something of a first cousin to it. But why? What did I really lose?
I am glad (very selfishly) to see my dear friend Beth feels the same way I do, and it is only because of her warm-hearted and endearing posts I feel free to write this. She may be the most honest person I have ever known...
My father told me that when Elvis died, he was in grief for weeks. He was truly torn-up by the loss. Elvis was someone he listened to growing up and it was like he had lost a friend...
Could it be the same with me? Was MJ my version of Elvis only I didn't realize it?
Maybe it is a "guy thing" or another stupid idea of the sort, but it seems almost silly to cry for him...why should I? I am not a child any longer and I should, by now, understand loss is something which happens. I didn't know him. I didn't go to single concert. And I wasn't a big collector of his albums (even back when they really were albums). Yet at the same time, I feel, for me to NOT shed some tears for MJ is dishonoring what he meant to me.
He, or rather his music, was there when I was down. He was someone I could turn to, like an ever faithful friend... He was able to express loss, love, and affection to or for someone when I didn't have the words...only emotion. Just watching the man dance was enough to make me smile...if even for a little bit.
I'd put on some of those big muffy headphones, holding them tight to my ears. I could practice my moonwalking in socks over a tile floor and vain myself into thinking I was getting pretty good at it. All the while he'd sing a private concert for as long as I wanted, chiming out the same song over and over, each time with just as much energy and strength in voice...never tiring...for me...until I had my fill. I would listen and feel better or braver, then put it away...able to come back to it when I chose. But when I did, maybe even months later, he would be there again...for me. Isn't that friendship? Loyalty?
I am quite sure it is.
So, today, I no longer grieve over the death of the King of Pop, rather my friend, Michael.
R.I.P.