Insert snarky comment here.
It started when David Bowie died. Then Alan Rickman, Garry Shandling, and most
recently, Prince. Wait, no, it began long before that. Robin Williams. Maybe MCA. Jesus, maybe when
George Carlin died in 2008? Kurt Vonnegut? Chris Farley, Phil Hartmann? Okay,
well, at least we have a pattern.
I
never met any one of these people. Neither did you. And if you did, it was a fleeting glance in
public or maybe as an audience member. I
felt something when they died. Not as
much as when my grandmother died, but more then when I heard Nancy Reagan died.
No offense to the former first lady, but truthfully I didn’t give a shit about
her.
Is
that cruel? No. Not really.
But it is my point.
Something
about these people touched us, even though we weren’t family or friends. It was an artistic connection between artist
and observer. It was through the mysterious impact of laughter. Or, as in the
case with Prince, we have memories of our own lives tied with their work. I own Purple
Rain. That’s it. I always meant to buy 1999,
but I never got around to it. I always thought of him as someone cool and there
were dozens of singles I thought were awesome, but he didn’t crack my top 20 favorite
musicians. However, Prince was the 1980’s. He and Madonna split the 1980’s by being everywhere
all the time with new songs, new looks, and shitty movies. You can’t explain the time in which I grew up
without a Prince song in there, somewhere.
So
when he died I felt gut-punched. I respected
Bowie just as much, but I didn’t grow up with him. The image of Prince is permanently
stamped in my brain; with all his weirdo clothes and his band of freaks backing
him up. I felt a loss of where I came
from. Like having your old school torn down. (Which also happened, by the by.)
The
point? This mass display of loss and
grief, no matter how great or small, is a good thing. Tears, swearing, dedications, memorials…it is
all a good thing. All of it. It is something we need at our very core. The benefits are innumerable. My particular favorite is that these
outpourings of emotion bring us together.
Even for a few days.
What
grinds my soul like a pestle to mortar are the people who balk at these
feelings. They accuse others of
piggybacking on a tragedy to get attention.
These cold, callus people question the so-called love or fandom of those
of us feeling a sense of loss. My retort to
these heartless assholes would be one word: So?
Who
gives a shit whether someone is vicariously feeling something through a distant
tragedy? Why do you care? Maybe these people need a release? Maybe the tragedy brings something up inside
them that you don’t see because you are hollowed-out husk of a human being. The rest of us are overwhelmed, scared and sensitive
people who desperately search for those few, beautiful, true moments in our
lives that aren’t about bills and bullshit.
Sometimes,
I am so thankful that I wear my emotions on my sleeve. I cry at movies. Certain songs still give me goosebumps. I get excited for things. Loud. Passionate.
Goofy. I makes me feel alive and
awake. It’s worth it to have to mourn
the passing of some of the people that inspired or entertained me. They left a mark on me and I don’t want to
forget it.
