I woke up and Farrah was gone.

I sat up in bed, watching CNN, and I felt a certain sadness and loss but still needed to get my life together, get a shower, dress and head out the door. I showered. Grabbed my robe. Walked back towards my bed and kinda sorta heard some random report that Michael wasn't feeling well. Truth be told, I didn't really stop to look. My phone rang and my midday meeting on the west side, near Santa Monica, was being rescheduled. Something was happening and there's all this traffic suddenly. It's LA and I'm thinking that's odd. Nothing REALLY shuts down for traffic. I mean, I was in LA for the white Bronco "chase" cruise thingy back in the 90's...and the first "Carmegedon on the 405 in 2011...but nothing was showing up on the news...yet.

My home address in LA was 6740 Hayvenhurst. I began to hear the helicopters begin to fly overhead and still didn't think much of it. CNN switched its graphic to "Breaking News". It was happening. It was ending. The sounds of the helicopters increased to the point where I needed to shut the windows. Traffic began to backup down all the side streets near my home...at 6740 Hayvenhurst. Next, I realized there was a constant "hum" that went on during all the "Breaking News". It was the sound of the generators fueling the news trucks and police cars on the other side of Balboa Park. I lived at 6740 Hayvenhurst. The Jackson family home...4641 Hayvenhurst. It was a sound I will never forget.

It was the sound of grief.

Don't think I got dressed at all that day.