Good-bye George Michael

I woke up in the middle of the night with a lump in my throat: a residue of wine, chocolate, turkey, baklava and Christmas trimmings of all sorts. I switched on my phone to find out what the time was and a BBC News notification flashed by: "George Michael dies at 53". I tapped the semi-awake app icon. The somber factual headline had made it to the top of the list. I turned to Facebook in disbelief. A waterfall of crying smileys had consumed my feed. Still sleepy and disbelieving, I knocked on Google's door for the facts. And yes, he was gone. His "end date" on Wikipedia was added. Yesterday was his last Christmas.
I felt sad, disturbed and robbed. George Michael was one of the people I grew up with. He was on the radio when my grandmother woke me up to go to school. He was on the radio when I was on the bus to University. He was on the radio at the canteen at work. I was never a fan but I always felt that he was my...mate. I have never not known his voice, his flashing handsome smile, his struggle. I was happy for him when he won an award. I forgave him when the tabloids forgot to listen without prejudice yet again.
It is still dark outside and I'm trying to write the sadness off my chest. I'm sure that tomorrow the headlines will be more adjectival, wordier, saucier. iTunes sales may skyrocket. There may be a documentary or two in the near future. But right now, I have a lump in my throat and it ain't just the food.

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