The Dimming of Shining Stars

Unless you never leave your house and don't turn on your TV, computer, or even radio, there's slim chance that your world hasn't been somewhat impacted by the loss of some major public figures in the last week.

Farrah Fawcett.
Michael Jackson.
Billy Mays.

Even if you aren't overly emotionally impacted by the passing of these celebrities, their last adventures color your world. They're all the talk over water coolers, grocery store lines, bar stools, blogs and neighborhood fences. I'm not the type of person who dwells much on celebrity figures. But yesterday morning when Lee and I woke up and were lying in bed channel surfing, we paused on a station that was playing video after video of Michael Jackson's greatest.

Always the moonwalk in those white suits. Always that crazy thing he did with his arms. Always the robotic but somehow fluid back-up dancers. Always those Scotland-yard looking policemen chasing after the truth about Billy Jean or The Smooth Criminal.

I couldn't help but think of the impact he had on my pre-teen and teenage years. Him and Farrah both, actually. I remember being glued to MTV and as fascinated by the Thriller video as any other kid my age. I remember getting a Farrah haircut and being so darn proud of my "feathers." I remember wanting to be one of Charlie's Angels and me and my friends making silly juvenile references to "Beat It."

I never understood how people can become so attached to celebrities that they'll camp outside their homes and wail and mourn over their passing. When I was growing up, my friend Kim's mother's had Velvet Elvises (Velvet Elvi?) all over her living and dining rooms. I learned to pick my own steamed crabs at their dining room table. Once, I pulled a claw too hard and a piece of crab meat flew out and smacked a Velvet Elvis on the cheek. I thought Kim's mom was going to smack me upside my head. When Elvis died, I recall her lying on her couch, sobbing as if her world had ended. She had a strong drink of something and took a valium.

I don't get that, but I do get the sense of sadness and loss and the feeling that there's a big empty space left by these people who somehow end up in positions to so dramatically impact and change our culture.

But you know what? Celebrities are not the only people whose passing will leave sadness and loss and emptiness in their wake even if you never "knew" them in the seen-in-person sense.  At least not these days.

I've never met Karen, otherwise known as CosmicCrayola or Cosmic. But through a little corner of the online world called Diaryland - the place where I still keep my private journal today - we've known each other for years. Karen was one of the first people I began reading after starting my own journal there, and we've remained part of the same small-but-big circle ever since, in spite of lots of changes in both D-land and our lives since those early entries.

Cosmic fits her so well. She couldn't have chosen a better moniker for her diary if she'd tried. She is so grounded and real, yet so way-out-there funny and inspiring in her shining and even everyday moments. Since I've been granted access to a slice of her world through her writing, I have come to know a woman who has been through incredible medical struggles, both her own and her husband Terry's. Sometimes it seemed their lives were a roller-coaster of one or both of them battling illness and hospitalization. Yet through it all, most of her journal entries have been about those moments we all hold dearest to our hearts. Family visits. Movie nights with the hubby. Good food. Jokes that hit us all in the funny bone. Daughters and grandchildren. Writing and publishing her book. We've emailed back and forth about a friend of hers getting a ferret. 

Many Diarylanders have met in person along the way. I've formed my share of friendships that transcended our online presence through the site. Unfortunately, I haven't had the chance to meet Cosmic. Others have. I wish I'd been there. But I didn't have to be to be touched by Karen and have her crack me up even on some of my worst days.

I've been behind in my Diaryland reading. So I was a bit stunned when I saw a Facebook status update from Golfwidow that sent me to Karen's diary. There, in the slice of colorful online space where she has written countless entries chronicling his medical battles - with the love, fear and humor that only she could - her husband Terry had posted an update letting us all know that Karen's longtime struggle is winding down. She'd been given just days, and that was a few days ago.

I may not get what I call "extreme celebrity mourning." But I am well aware of how much we can be touched by people we've never actually met through words and screens. Karen is my friend. Because she is still here, I pray for a miracle and hope that this isn't a farewell post but rather just an observation about how much people we haven't met can come to mean something good to us and change our lives. There will be an empty space in my heart that was usually filled with a laugh or a smile courtesy of Karen if she goes someplace where her regular routine doesn't feature blog updates.

It has been a strange week. And in our little corner of the online world, Karen is a shining star who will leave a huge empty space if she does take that journey alongside Michael, Billy and Farrah. I pray for her, Terry and their family.