That's thing about us humans. We consist of organic matter which has a duration. I've never felt grief for a celebrity's death. I reserve grief for people I actually was related to and knew, who are now dead.
Still, I'll cop to it. When, of all people, Farrah Fawcett died, I surprised myself. I did have a reaction (and I was only, and barely, a casual fan of hers).
Not because she died, but because her death reminded me of my mortality. There are some celebrities whose stardom was such a pop phenomenon, they take on an immortal aspect.
Ultimately, and in keeping with being being selfish bitch that I am, yes, I managed to make Fawcett's death about me. But isn't that how all of us react to any death?
If you weren't born yet when she was at the apex of her popularity, it was truly a thing to behold. That poster was EVERYWHERE.
White, Blonde, Beautiful, Young, Nipples, Smile. Hair.
All of the status signifiers that still are, unjustly, held to have the most value, although we don't like to acknowledge that truth ( and let me hasten to add, I don't blame Fawcett for that).
So, yeah, "Wait, Fawcett's dead? Wow." Death. The Great Equalizer.