“Ever since I was born, daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine,”
spoke little Paris Jackson, her voice trembling through tears,
words carrying the weight of loss too heavy for an 11-year-old,
a child declaring pure love in front of the world,
at the funeral of the man who had been her everything.
The image of a daughter saying goodbye still lingers in hearts everywhere,
for nothing is as painful as a child mourning a parent so soon.
The grief echoed across the globe, but for Paris it was deeply personal,
a wound that no cameras, no sympathy, no words could ever heal,
only the emptiness of a father gone too early.
Her father, Michael Jackson, was not just a global icon,
but to her and her brothers, he was simply “daddy,” their protector,
the one who shielded them from flashing lights and prying eyes,
a man who valued their privacy as much as his art,
building a world where childhood could remain innocent.
Yet with his passing, the walls he had built began to crumble,
and suddenly, the spotlight he worked so hard to deflect
turned its blinding gaze toward the children he left behind.
Magazines, cameras, and whispers demanded pieces of them,
as though through Paris and her brothers, the world could reach Michael again.
The burden of grief became tangled with the weight of fame,
a cruel paradox for children who only wished for quiet healing.
Every smile, every tear, every word became headlines,
their lives dissected by strangers who claimed to care,
but often only hungered for more glimpses of Michael’s shadow.
Paris, still so young, carried memories of warmth and tenderness,
of a father who sang lullabies not for an audience,
but for the ears of his children alone, in the safety of home.
These were the truths she clung to when the world demanded stories,
the private moments that mattered more than any stage
Her brothers, too, bore the same burden of eyes upon them,
expected to smile, to speak, to carry on the legacy
of a man whose shoes no one could ever truly fill.
Yet they were not performers, only children in mourning,
learning to navigate grief under an unrelenting spotlight.
Michael had always been deliberate in keeping them hidden,
masks and disguises shielding their faces from public scrutiny.
He wanted them to have what he never truly had—
a chance at normalcy, at laughter without cameras watching,
a childhood unchained from the weight of celebrity.
But fate was unkind, and with his passing, their protection was gone,
leaving Paris to speak words that became etched in history:
a daughter’s love, simple yet eternal, spoken through heartbreak.
“Ever since I was born, daddy has been the best father…”
a truth she carried, then and always, beyond the glare of the world.