A Tribute to the Light Inside the Prince of Darkness

Ozzy Osbourne passed away yesterday.

I was six or seven when I first heard the opening riff of Iron Man by Black Sabbath.

I didn’t know what it was at the time.

I only knew it was good, it was right, and that it touched something inside me, and I wanted more.

I don’t know if that moment alone shaped my musical taste, but heavy metal is my music life.

On July 5th, the four original members of Black Sabbath, along with metal and rock royalty, descended on Birmingham, UK, for a final show.

I watched the live stream from my living room, regretting that I wasn’t there in person.

When Ozzy sang his solo hit, Mama I’m Coming Home, something inside me let go.

I cried.

I cried harder than I can remember in a long time. I felt that this was his last goodbye to us, and that made me sad.

But it was deeper than that.

Ozzy and the other members of Black Sabbath invented heavy metal, the music that has shaped my life.

The tears I cried weren’t just tears of sadness; they were tears of profound understanding in that moment.