Jackson’s journey through pathos a painful trip for everyone

Michael Jackson is dead, and it probably doesn't matter how. Men in their 50s can and do die of natural causes. Their hearts can simply stop beating with zero heart history and absent any known symptoms. Men in their 50s also can spend years loading their bodies with enough medication to glow in the dark, to euthanize a Budweiser Clydesdale, to anesthetize unimaginable psychic suffering taking up residence in all manner of physical symptoms.

Which, of course, is psychic suffering's inevitable calling card -- embodiment. Indeed, sometimes our hearts just stop beating. Sometimes our hearts just break. Literally and otherwise.

I'm saying it probably doesn't matter how Michael Jackson died, because all roads lead to the same Rome: pathos.

I was in the eighth grade when the Jackson Five song "ABC" stormed onto my radio dial KRUX-AM, 1360, in Phoenix. The song is pure celebration. It made me feel alive and happy. The lead singer was 12 years old.

"I'll Be There," on the group's next album, featured a brilliant melody, lyrics and production of which I wasn't mature enough to appreciate until years later: "Where there is love, I'll be there."

"Got to Be There" in 1971. Wow. And the melody of "Ben" (1972) always knocked me out. Ironic, yes, that Michael, at age 13, made famous a love song pledging undying friendship to a pet rat? Shades of things to come? Who could have known.

In 1980, Michael nailed my shoes to the floor with his vocal on "She's Out of My Life." Holy Toledo. It still takes my breath away. To this day my favorite Michael Jackson vocal.

1982. "Thriller." The best-selling album of original songs in the U.S. of all-time. Which, of course, doesn't make it a better album than "Dark Side of the Moon" or "Sgt. Pepper," but, sheesh, it was and is a great record. Always was fascinated that the first single released from that album was the cheesy Paul McCartney duet "The Girl Is Mine." But, I like cheesy, and I'm a Beatles geek, so, oh well.

"Dangerous" (1991) is my favorite Michael Jackson album. Here, in my opinion, all of his artistic riches came together in the perfect marriage. Songwriting, production, vocals, lyrics and an obvious artistic maturity. "Black or White" is my favorite Michael Jackson number ever. Musically compelling, and a social commentary far ahead of its time: "I'm not gonna spend my life being a color."

I'll always think of "Dangerous" as the last time I saw Michael alive. He floated away not so much to Neverland, but to "neverneverland."

No, my guess is he did not have sex with children, though his behavior with them was wholly inappropriate. Yes, I think it's reasonable to wonder about the clinical diagnosis "body dysmorphic disorder." What he did to his body seemed to me savage self-loathing. Yes, I think he suffered severe childhood abuse.

We expect brilliant artsy types to be edgy and idiosyncratic. Then, if they find their way to celebrity and fame, we're not surprised when artistic brilliance is accompanied by hubris, entitlement, excessiveness, risk-taking and battles with depression. But so far all I've done is describe the likes of John Lennon, Edgar Allan Poe, Vincent van Gogh, Ernest Hemingway, Judy Garland -- you name 'em.

I have a dear friend who once said to me: "If I was rich, I'd be eccentric. As it is, I'm just odd."

Michael was rich, but he put both odd and eccentric in his rearview mirror years ago. Years ago.

Michael utterly fragmented. Unraveled. Came apart at the seams. Disappeared inside himself, never to be heard from again. Take away his wealth and celebrity, and no one would have used the words "eccentric" or even "odd." In polite company, you would have said delicately, "... has some mental health issues." Had you met him on an inner-city street pushing a grocery cart, you'd have just said "crazy."

Do you ever think that some people are dead long before they actually die?

Mostly, I'm relieved for Michael, and in some ways for us. Every time he came on my television I had this icky feeling I was being conscripted into Michael's exploitation. Like I said -- pathos. Nobody uses the word "pathetic" literally any more. It's not a put-down. It's an adjective. An observed state. Michael was, in the end -- literally -- pathetic.

Michael's journey through pathos was oh so public and hard to watch. I hope that journey is over for him.

Where there is love, I hope Michael's there.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling Wellness Center in Las Vegas and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His columns appear on Sundays. Contact him at skalas@review journal.com.