So I thought I wouldn’t mourn for you, or at least not show any signs of sadness. I was very sad, sure, when I heard about your sudden death. It was a shock, and it seemed that the world stopped for a few seconds; but everyone else was grieving, and there was –is– more than enough grieving over your loss that my own grief wouldn’t make any difference.
Oh but now that they’re fighting over your estate, and your children facing an uncertain future (not knowing who will take care of them, now that their best playmate, protector and father has gone), and there are still the unkind reports of how you were such a major whack job, I can’t help but cry. You were music and poetry and art personified whenever you sang and danced; watching you move across the stage was breathtaking, and it was always a source of awe and sheer delight to see you perform. It was like seeing the sunlight sparkling on moving water. And now that you’re gone, it not likely that there will ever be anyone like you again.
Perhaps the most painful thing about your passing is that you died without feeling that you were loved. Despite the millions of fans all over the world, despite the public adoration even in the face of the most vicious, malicious attacks against you and your innocent motives, you felt unloved and unnaccepted. How else could your misguided acts of altering your face and skin color be interpreted but a deep insecurity, a tragic lack of self-acceptance and love?
You gave so much to the world with your music and your poetry; the messages in your songs, the artistry of your dance; but probably you asked yourself why did you get so little in return? Oh not the money (you had a lot of that; you lost a lot as well, but in the end you still could never be called poor); but the genuine happiness that comes to people when they know that they are loved despite everything and maybe even because of their little flaws. You were imperfect just like everyone else; but your humanity was a little closer to perfection more than so many others’ because of your kindness, your gentleness, your humble wish to make the world a better place with your music.
You shouldn’t have changed who you were on the outside. You were already so beautiful.
You should have, however, changed who you were on the inside. You should’ve not let yourself be beaten down by the cruelty of others; you have have learned to trust more in the people who did really love you and told them of the gaping loneliness and isolation you often felt; you should’ve learned to be stronger without the drugs, the medication– if not for yourself , then for your children.
Oh good-bye to the little boy who never grew up! Good-bye to the man who was always young! The world was often unkind to you even as it held you high; but you should not have given in and instead you should’ve fought back– in a way that echoed the graceful strength of your songs and the the energy of your dance. How I wanted you to fight back when they were attacking you! How I wanted you to grow indignant and angry and disgusted with the greed, selfishness and malice of others! You should’ve been more confident that the rest of the world did not hold you in contempt, and there was a wealth of belief in your innocence.
But now it’s too late. And you, gentle, gentle soul, have gone much, much too soon. Thank you so much for the music, thank you for the art. May you find happiness wherever it is you are now.