Thursday, July 23, 2009
michael, may you now be at peace: a reflection (no. 25)
teacher, i am stuck with a dilemma of having so many things to say to you but really not knowing how to say them. i am back on a 'normal' schedule of our daily conversations (i had to pause a moment and let other people in on how i feel about you- so i wrote a so-called 'eulogy'. did you read it yet? i know you don't like reading things about you, but i'm sure you have much more time on your hands now to decipher what you do and don't want to read. but, if you DID read wheat i wrote, how did you feel about it?)
today is day 25 of our conversations (and about 26 total, since you... transcended), and i still feel such a wealth of sadness. i call out to you and wonder if you hear me. i can laugh now- someone even told me today that they were happy to see me smiling again- but i think people still recognize the sadness there... people still tell me to hang in there.people are still asking how i am coping.
the number 25 will forever be lodged in my mind when it comes to you now... it was the day i lost a part of myself in relation to you... it was the anniversary your childhood record label was celebrating its existence. it was the age you hit international superstardom. it was the age i found significance and autonomy in my name.
i spent so many hours processing this 'eulogy' to you; i am wiped out. i feel relieved (that i could share the gift you gave me with others, and discussing the meaning behind what you mean to me, putting a lot of myself out there) but also sort of drained (for the same reasons). i feel drained knowing there is still 'news' coming out about you that i want nothing to do with; i feel drained just knowing what i am dealing with, your children are dealing with it much worse.
i am drained because i realize this sadness is just not going away. i realize that i really do need to be with people in this time. when i am sitting here by myself my heart just sinks. when i glance at images of you the one pops up once in a while, where you are pronounced- 'dead'. i HATE that word, because YOU ARE NOT DEAD!!! you have... transcended. if you were dead your life force would not flow throughout the world; your energy would not be felt by those who still grieve. but when that image of you pops up: laying there, your presumably cold and lifeless (ultimately looking like a mannequin) body preyed upon by cameras- what i see from the corner of my eye for just a fraction of a second- can no longer take the imagery. and i scroll the image up, so i no longer have to see it.
i haven't even taken a closer look at it. i just don't wanna know. i would not be able to take that, i know. i don't want to know anything regarding you post-transition. the only thing i want to know is if your children are safe.
i have so many images of you surrounding me, it's not even funny. i can look at them now (one thing i could NOT do in the first few days); but if i saw sadness and tragic beauty in those images before... all i can see now is...
all i know is that, on the 25th day of our conversation (and the 26th day since you have physically left us) i began crying again. i stared straight into your eyes, and i began to cry. i know we can never estimate when our grieving periods are gonna be over, but you would think there would be some personal measure of progression. and i think i've definitely progressed (i can talk to people now, and i can sing!) but deep down inside i always feel like i'm reverting to step one of the grieving process.
i'm not asking for some sort of resolve (that would be asking for too much; nor is it pro-active to rush the grieving process). i would just like to know that i am in a process of healing.
thanks for listening,
your humble student,