Cry Me A River

...Or at least a puddle.

What do tears really mean? Are they measured based on the thickness of the stream? The awful noise that accompanies them? The amount of make-up that is washed away? The redness in your eyes? Or the pool of passion that soaks your favorite silk blouse?

I am sure we all have an instrument for deciding how to measure this varying emotion. However, a lack of tears should be no indication of our love of, passion for, or dedication to a person, place, or thing (noun you know, lol)

I cried when Aaliyah died. When I found out I was pregnant with and at the delivery of Kaden. I broke down when I heard the news of Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey getting a divorce. I teared up when I found out Jay and B had finally said, "I do." When my little cousin/Godbrother was killed by a motorist right in front of his home I cried profusely. When my grandfather lost his battle to cancer I relived the same nightmare. Each time Ian and I broke up, I cried (on different levels and a long time ago. Today I'm tear free). I cried when my parents got married, down the aisle to be exact. I cried when I was in an accident, out of fear that I was hurt more than it appeared. When Bush was re-elected for president I cried. When Barack Obama was elected president I certainly cried. I cried when Jennifer Hudson lost nearly all the members of her family. I did it again when she won an Oscar for her performance in Dream Girls. I cried when my Mom said no to me as a child. I cried when my father omitted a toy I had written on my list of Christmas wishes. I cried when Kaden lost not one, but 3 great grandparents (how fortunate was he to have them in his life). I cried at each sitting of a Tyler Perry movie. Of course I cried over several topics discussed on Oprah. I cried when Kaden lost his tooth at a very early age. I cried the first time I saw Mariah. And by now I'm sure you have guessed the underlying theme of this post. I cried. I cried. I cried.

What you will find hard to believe is the fact that I did not cry when I heard the news that Michael Jackson had passed.

Was that a gasp I heard?

Oh dear, how shameful it is to utter the words, "Michael Jackson's death did not make me shed a tear."

I feel as though the measure of tears is too complicated to tackle in one post. But I will say that my lack of tears for Michael Jackson's death may be for the same reason millions are crying over it.

Michael was larger than life. Profound. Sweet. Artistic. Generous. Talented. Delicate. Child-like. Handsome (pre-surgery). And extremely likable. I rarely saw him without a smile, or at least a hint of one. This maybe the contributing factor to why my tears decided to wait this one out. Use them at a more fragile time. A time where my head was not in a good place.

I viewed his life and death as a celebration. Michael had spent the latter part of his career in the news. Not an ounce of positivity was plastered across the screen. There were constant images of him dangling his son over the balcony, showing up to court in pajama pants, and the diminishing upkeep of the Neverland ranch. I have viewed these couple of days as a solemnization. How great is it that we get to experience endless footage of Michael in his prime? I would say extremely great. The idea that people of all races, creeds, ages, and religious backgrounds can come together under the leadership of this great talent is more than amazing.

We all react differently to every situation. It does not make us more or less of a person for having contrasting reactions. I would never use a moment like Michael's death to lash-out on someone for what may even have deeper meaning than the subject at hand. If I choose to tweet, update my status on a social network, or even write an entire post on my feelings for MJ, I have that right. What I don't expect is to be devoured by tasteless replies, comments, or rebuttals. Let's play fair.

Everyone calls Michael the King of Pop when really he should be called the King of Music. He's written, sang, and danced more than any musical act in the world.

The river I cry for Michael may not be enough to keep the despair of millions of fans afloat. But there will be plenty to water the garden of his memories.

Rip MJ.