"Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio?
A nation turns its lonely eyes to you."
Writing for Michael is hard. Pictures, candles and other tributes to Michael are discretely placed in the homes of his mom, sister, aunts, grandma and cousins. I look at those tributes often, struggle with my emotions and choke back the tears. It is impossible to convey the profound sadness I feel. I never ask why he died. I know why he died. I struggle to hold onto my memories of him. Where did the time go? He was so full of promise. So bright, so witty, so sensitive and - while he would never admit it - so flawed. My heart breaks and I cannot hold back the tears. My heart never stops breaking.
In the midst of my sorrow lies my salvation and it is love. I loved Michael. We loved Michael. He was beautiful. He was a beautiful boy. A beautiful son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin and friend. He's gone, but I feel his essence and my love for him transcends time. The pain remains, but the love continues to flourish. Soon it will overwhelm the sadness and I will be left where I started with Michael, with a profound love and an immense sense of pride in his essential goodness, his many talents and his courage in the face of daunting circumstances.
Writing for Michael is hard. Pictures, candles and other tributes to Michael are discretely placed in the homes of his mom, sister, aunts, grandma and cousins. I look at those tributes often, struggle with my emotions and choke back the tears. It is impossible to convey the profound sadness I feel. I never ask why he died. I know why he died. I struggle to hold onto my memories of him. Where did the time go? He was so full of promise. So bright, so witty, so sensitive and - while he would never admit it - so flawed. My heart breaks and I cannot hold back the tears. My heart never stops breaking.