when you're older, you will understand.

i remember lying on the couch, with a washcloth on my forehead
to help a migraine that was too intense for my seven-year-old self to handle,
watching the news. princess diana had died.
i remember the anchors going on and on, saying the same things.
it was such a huge deal.
i remember being annoyed, hearing it all repeated over and over.
maybe i was cranky, a side-effect of the migraine,
or maybe i just didn't get it.
i remember wondering, out loud, "what's the big deal?
i know she was famous, but she's dead now."
i don't remember my mom's response, but it didn't matter.
i didn't understand anyway.

on friday, a dj on the radio was talking about michael jackson
and caleigh, the soon-to-be fourth grader T watches,
came in my room and asked, "why is michael jackson on everything?
i mean, i know he was famous and all, but he's dead."
i don't remember what i said to her, but it doesn't matter.
she doesn't understand anyway.