We've all had death on our minds lately.

In the last week, we've heard a number of notable obituaries: The sudden deaths of pop star Michael Jackson and TV pitchman Billy Mays, and deaths after long illnesses of Farrah Fawcett and Ed McMahon. And for Utah bibliophiles, bookstore owner Sam Weller.

At the movie theaters, three dramas are now playing about death and its aftermath: The tearjerker "My Sister's Keeper," the French drama "Summer Hours," and this year's foreign-language Oscar winner, the Japanese drama "Departures."

The common message of these three movies is a familiar one: Most of the trauma, and drama, of a person's death centers on what his or her surviving loved ones do next -- whether it's deciding to let a dying person go, or figuring out how to dispose of the deceased's possessions or remains.

When a celebrity passes, we take stock of what memories are left behind. Last week, many of us thought back with fond nostalgia to McMahon's hearty laughter supporting Johnny Carson's jokes, or of Fawcett's smile beaming from a TV screen or a poster.

Our memories of Michael Jackson are much more complicated, because he was one of the most complex public figures the world has ever known: The boy with the big voice who grew into a superstar, but whose personal strangeness began to eclipse his talent -- particularly when accusations of child molestation emerged.

Thursday night, as news of Jackson's death was broadcast around the world, the public sought out ways to process his passing.

Radio was no help, not like it was in 1980 when John Lennon was murdered and fans tuned in to hear his music. I scanned the Salt Lake FM dial Thursday night, and found only one station -- community station KRCL -- playing Jackson's music. The rest were locked into rigid genre formats that leave no room for on-the-fly programming changes.

Instinctively, many of us clicked over to MTV, even if the channel doesn't really play music any more. After all, Jackson was a pioneer on MTV, busting the door down for black artists who followed him. Also, MTV was our national gathering place in 1994, when Kurt Cobain killed himself. Sure enough, MTV's Sway was holding court with stalwarts Kurt Loder and John Norris, reminiscing and interviewing other musicians.

But the prime medium for Jackson's fans was the Internet, which nearly buckled from the strain. According to tech websites, traffic at news sites jumped sharply. TMZ's site, which first reported Jackson's death, crashed. Twitter was overloaded to the point that it temporarily disabled search features. The iTunes Store and Amazon.com reported a sudden rise in online sales of Jackson's music.

So what happens next to Michael Jackson's legacy?

Odds are we'll be hearing his music more. Recent reports say Jackson was millions of dollars in debt. It's possible that Jackson's creditors will seek repayment by, for example, selling rights to Jackson's music for use in TV commercials or movie soundtracks.

And maybe the world now can listen to Jackson's music without the accompanying "ick" factor. It was hard in the last decade to hear songs like "Billie Jean" or "Beat It" without thinking of the tabloid version of Jackson -- "Wacko Jacko," the guy with the hyperbaric chamber and the Peter Pan complex and the creepy (alleged) prediliction for young boys.

It may be a cruel final irony that Michael Jackson's death will give him what he couldn't get in life: A chance to polish his legacy, and return the focus to his music.

Sean P. Means writes the Culture Vulture in daily blog form at blogs.sltrib.com/vulture.