What is it about icons dying that really makes you take pause?
I’m talking about when truly famous people pass away. Whether you liked them or not, whether you were a die-hard fan or barely followed them—they were just always there. And then suddenly, they’re not. And somehow, that does something to you.
The first time I really felt it was when Michael Jackson died.
It’s not that I idolized him. Sure, I played the heck out of his music as a kid—starting around age 10 and into the ’90s—but I wasn’t obsessed. Still, I remember the exact moment I found out he was gone. I was in the break room at work, and one of the TVs was tuned to the news. They were covering it live as they removed him from his home. It hit harder than I expected.
I think it’s because Michael was always part of the background noise of life. In the tabloids, in the news, on the radio—always there. His music was tied to a thousand memories. And when someone like that dies, it’s like a piece of your past gets taken with them.
Then came July 22nd, 2025—Ozzy Osbourne passed away peacefully, surrounded by family.
Again, not someone I was crazy about musically. A few songs here and there I liked, but I never bought an album. Still, his passing hit me in that same strange, personal way. Ozzy was always around. Whether it was headlines about biting the head off a bat or his iconic, gravel-voiced mumbling, he was just... there. Larger than life. Untouchable. Immortal, even.
And then there was The Osbournes—that wild, over-the-top reality show that everyone was hooked on when it first aired. It might’ve been one of the first reality shows centered around a family, and it was nothing like the overly polished, scripted junk we get now. It gave us a raw, chaotic, and often hilarious peek behind the curtain at the real life of the Prince of Darkness and his family dynamic. It made him feel human.
And maybe that’s what it all comes down to.
These people—these legends—they become background characters in our stories. Constant. Familiar. Sometimes comforting. When they pass, it rattles something inside us. It reminds us that even the rich, the outrageous, the unforgettable… are not immune to time.
It makes you take pause.
Because someone who seemed so big, so untouchable, is now gone.
And you’re still here.
Still waking up, going to work, doing the everyday things.
And maybe that realization is what truly hits the hardest.