“You can't win/The world keeps movin'/And you're standin' far behind” – “You Can’t Win,” Michael Jackson

It was a day that seemed quite common, not unlike any other non-descript day I’ve spent. I can vaguely remember shopping and having lunch with my mom. Across the aisle where I tried on shoes, I could hear a woman mention hearing about Farrah Fawcett dying earlier that morning. I can recall feeling a pang of sadness for the actress’ family, as she succumbed to cancer.

But what came later that day will be a vivid memory for me – and most – for years to come.

The world found out that afternoon, June 25, 2009, that Michael Jackson had died.

The pang of sadness I’d felt for an actress I’d barely watched was magnified as I mourned -- physically mourned -- a musical talent I’d spent my entire life listening to. I mourned for his children, who were too young to essentially be orphaned. I mourned for his mother, who had now outlived two sons (Marlon Jackson’s twin brother died shortly after birth). I mourned for his fans, who believed MJ wasn’t quite done making great music.

But mostly my soul grieved for Michael – a man who never got to be a child, who was ridiculed more for his eccentricities than celebrated for his charitable works. I grieved for a man whose obit would list his record-breaking record sales and his alleged pedophilia in tandem.

Like his Scarecrow in “The Wiz,” MJ, even in death, just couldn’t win.

But in the year since Jackson’s death, mentions of his oddities and minors sharing his bed began to dwindle. His children – Prince, Paris and Blanket – gained more visibility than they’d ever known, dispelling beliefs the younger Jacksons were abused, maladjusted or just plain weird.

Slowly, Jackson morphed from “Wacko Jacko” back to “Michael.”

His friends and family had somehow humanized him again.

Sales of “Thriller” and greatest hits compilations were through the roof again.

Radio stations kept his music on a constant loop for days, reminding us of the hits we’d grown up with and the man we’d grown to love. And we loved him once more – the Michael who showed us how to have compassion for those living with HIV/AIDS (“Gone Too Soon”), strive for a better life for our children (“Heal The World”) and take responsibility for our actions (“Man In The Mirror”).

It’s heartwarming to see that MJ has once again become a hero and less of the caricature we painted him to be, but it took his death to revive his legacy, make him whole.

In the last year, time has continued to march on: Babies were born, elders passed. Seasons changed, flowers bloomed. But Jackson’s death has stayed with us somehow. And as we celebrate his life, a year after his life ended, it is apparent his death will stay with us for a long while.