Yesterday, on my way home from work, I heard a news bulletin that Michael Jackson had been taken to hospital with cardiac arrest. Less than ten minutes later, the radio station reported an unconfirmed report that he had died. That was within minutes of the actuality of the event, given my timezone.

Like many people, I grew up listening to Michael and his brothers as their careers unfolded; Motown was my generation's era of music. I was listening to Motown LONG before I ever discovered a thing called rock 'n' roll and my anthems were “I'll Be there”, “A B C 1 2 3” and “I Want You Back”. Later, as I hit my teens, there was “Enjoy Yourself”, “Shake Your Body”, “Blame It On The Boogie” and more – the music was always there, woven into and playing a prominent role in the soundtrack of my life.

I remember when “Don't Stop 'Tilk You Get Enough” hit the clubs and airwaves; I was a club DJ then and the record was very difficult to get in Canada. That year, I went back home to the Caribbean for what was to be my last visit there for the next twenty five years and I brought back two copies of the album, one for myself and the second for a fellow DJ. We had it before the record pool broke it in our city (Calgary at that time).

Michael was an endless ocean of talent, from the utterly cool dance moves, the awesome fashion, the incredible showmanship, and above all the letter perfect vocals. His music was upbeat, lighthearted and above all FUN. The world was somehow a nicer and more energized place to live in when his music was playing.

Time passed, controversy dogged Michael, fed by a media that trades in sensationalism and cheap ratings. Anyone with eyes knew Michael had issues and as stories of his childhood crept out, it was easy, for me at least, to see what fueled the strange transformation he seemed to be undergoing. It wasn't a unique situation in his family as other members walked that path too, albeit in lesser degrees.

But the music was omnipresent.

So was the class.

And the childlike innocence, despite the headlines.

It became obvious to me that Michael spoke best through his music and just wasn't going to let the big bad world take his long overdue childhood from him.

And that was fine by me.

My life is different now. I retired from club work, got a career, married, had kids, bought the house, etc.

But the magic never faded – I still get misty when I hear “I'll Be There” and Thriller” still evokes the wonder and raw excitement I felt when I first saw that incredible video in a club.

Others will talk about how Michael legitimized black music on the airwaves and TV (MTV refused to play black videos until Michael came along), changed the face of music and pop culture forever, became more recognizable and popular than any other entertainer in human history, helped to rally entertainers into having a social conscience with his involvement in projects like “We Are The World”.

And it's all true.

But for me, Michael will always be the little kid with the jaunty smile singing “Just look over your shoulders honey!”, the quiet, softspoken icon who exploded into blazing and infectious electric energy on stage, the writer of songs whose lyrics moved my heart and soul, the poet who wrote words such as:

“If you enter this world knowing you are loved and you leave this world knowing the same, then everything that happens in between can be dealt with.”

Music was and remains my lifeblood.

Thank you for the music Michael.

So Long (not goodbye for your music is ever with me) and Safe Flight.

I'll miss you.