i woke up ine morning, this morning, and realized it was today. i walked out of my room, down the hallway and into the living room, where i picked up the remote turned on the t.v. and set the memorial service for record. i turned off my t.v. and proceeded to go about my day.

after four hours out of the house, i flip on the t.v. again, dreading what i am about to see...



"i just want to say... that my dad was the best father i could have asked for... and i, *sob* i loved him so much..." paris covered her face and cried. jannet put her arms around paris and they and the rest of the jacksons left the stage. music played as the men of the family removed the box that contained his body from the staples center. the fans cried and chanted his name, "king of pop! king of pop!"


and it hit me. "...he's dead... he's really, truely dead..." and i cried. i cried and cried and cried. and i repeated those words. "...he's dead... he's dead... my king is dead... he's dead..." over and over until they had no more meaning. the were just words. but i knew from that moment on. i would never be the same...



"... my king is dead... he's dead... the king of pop is dead... Michael Jackson is dead..."