Legacy

We don't always get to control ours.

Well, death came for the ‘80s this week.

Three names we all grew up with—Malcolm-Jamal Warner, Ozzy Osbourne, and Hulk Hogan—gone in the span of a few days. And the weirdest part? Ozzy somehow left us looking like the least controversial of the bunch.

Let that sink in.

The man who bit the head off a bat in front of a live audience is now the “safe” one in the obituary roundup. What a time.

Let’s break this down.

Malcolm-Jamal Warner’s death hit hard. Not because of scandal—he had none. He was smart, talented, and mostly stayed out of the mess. But the second his name started trending, you could feel the internet flinch. Because you can’t say “Malcolm-Jamal Warner” without your brain whispering “Theo.” And you can’t say “Theo” without summoning… Cosby.

It’s not fair, but it’s how memory works. Malcolm didn’t do anything wrong—but he’s forever tethered to one of the biggest falls from grace in entertainment history. And suddenly, we’re all asking uncomfortable questions: Can you separate the art from the artist? Do you even want to? What do we do with the people who got caught in the crossfire?

Then there’s Hogan. Wrestler. Reality star. American flag bandana enthusiast. And also: N-word scandal, sex tape lawsuit, political circus sideshow. People have been trying to cancel him for years—and somehow, he just kept body slamming his way through it all. Until now. And even in death, his controversies are louder than his accomplishments.

(I’ll talk more about him on this week’s “Bitter Pill” podcast, which drops on Wednesday.)

Which leaves us with Ozzy. The guy who once scared suburban parents into banning albums and burning vinyl. But Ozzy just kind of… bowed out. Quietly. A final concert seated on a throne, like a metal king handing over the crown. No backlash. No debates. Just fans saying goodbye.

So yeah—Ozzy is the least messy death of the week. Didn’t have that on my 2025 bingo card.

So what’s the lesson here?

Maybe it’s this: we don’t get to control how we’re remembered. We can live quietly, like Malcolm, and still end up haunted by the shadows we didn’t cast. Or we can live loudly, like Hogan, and have people tripping over your headlines even after you’re gone. Or we can be Ozzy—chaotic, theatrical, maybe even offensive—and somehow ride off into the sunset with surprising grace.

Legacy isn’t about what you did as much as how people felt about you while you were doing it—and whether they’re still willing to forgive, forget, or even care once you’re gone.

It’s kind of unsettling. But also freeing.

You don’t get to write your ending. All you can do is show up, do your best (or your worst), and hope the people left behind tell a decent version of the story.

And if not? Well, at least make sure your final concert has decent lighting and a good seat.

This content is for educational and entertainment purposes and is not a substitute for therapy. If you need support, visit PsychologyToday.com or a reputable online therapy platform to find help.

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