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    AZ Central – “My Turn: I’d like to see a mom’s death go viral like Prince’s”

    See the original article here:

    Over the past couple weeks, friends flooded my Facebook news feed grieving the death of Prince.

    The funny thing is, over the past 10 years I could likely count on one hand the number of times I even saw Prince’s name, or the artist twice formally known as Prince, scroll past my eyes. And I’m sure most of those had to do with a Superbowl halftime performance that featured, well, not the cleanest shadow puppet ever.

    Now, all of a sudden, the guy dies and little did I know, he was everyone’s favorite musician.

    His name is everywhere. Videos, interviews, transcripts. It is close to nauseating. Everything I never wanted to know about Prince scrolled past, once, twice, three times and more.

    Just once, I’d like to see a mom go viral

    At the same time, the mother of a friend died. A really nice woman who sacrificed everything for her children. She sacrificed money, career, maybe even fame and fortune, just to stay put and to take care of the ones she loved. All that rolled by on my news feed, was a link to her obituary, and a single sad post by her children, with the obligatory “sorry to hear that” and “sending prayers your way” responses.

    I thought to myself, ‘She was every bit as wonderful as Prince, it is just that not many know it.’

    Just once, I would like to see the name and history of an average mom, who lived an average life to raise above average children, glorified on Facebook and other social media like Prince. Just once, I would like to see a mom go viral.

    Our mothers are Princes too, you know.

    Like my mom or your mom.

    Our mothers are gifted women, though you would never hear them say it. They can draw, they can sing, they can sew, they can cook and they can laugh. Our moms could have done any number of a thousand different things in their lives, but they chose to take care of their children; all of whom eventually say “thanks” and fly from the nest.

    Who impacted you most, your mom or Prince?

    Yet when they die, these unsung, under-appreciated heroes of our youth, they die without trumpets and fanfare. Few gather at their houses laying flowers at their doorsteps. Fewer still share the obituary when it comes rolling down their news feed. Our moms just fade away.

    Prince will fade away too, it will just take longer, I guess.

    It is not fair, it really isn’t.

    Say what you will, but most of our generational heroes die at their own hands. From quick suicides to slow drug and alcohol induced suicides, they live a lifestyle we only want because we don’t know what it’s like. We want to be Prince. We do not even know him.

    Yet we spend our lives with the a visage of what it means to be good, and pure and wholesome. The person who forced us to eat our vegetables, to take our vitamins and to get out from in front of the TV. The only person in the world who cared for us when we were too young to care for ourselves. That is the person who dies in obscurity. She dies with barely a digital blink of the eye recognizing her passing.

    Who is the only person who wants to be like her? All of us.

    Next time you see an obituary roll by one your news feed, take a moment to share it and simply say: “This was a wonderful woman, she deserves a little recognition.”

    Daniel Marco is the co-author of “Everywhere Nowhere, No One Really Dies as Long as You’re Alive,” available on Amazon.