So, for the last 48 hours or so, I’ve had a medley of Whitney Houston songs running through my head.
I suspect the same is probably true for you.
I was sitting in my living room late Saturday evening when Lisa read a news alert - that came across the internet - reporting the tragic news of Houston’s death at age 48. Like so many other performers who went before her – and I suspect we can all recite the list of names by heart now – she burned out far too early and passed from us far too soon.
Though we haven’t yet heard an official cause of death, the anecdotal evidence is beginning to stack up to tell us the story we probably already knew.
I could spend time typing an anti-drug message here or talking about the evils of addiction but we all know that message by heart now, don’t we? I think I’d rather mourn the loss of a brilliant performer who slipped away from us short of the age of 50 and, seemingly, far too soon.
I guess I’d prefer to just ask the question and let it linger in the air…why?
I’m not a famous performer and I doubt I ever will be. Therefore, it is hard for me to understand the type of lifestyle that can lead a distinct minority of artists to self-destruction. You figure, to an extent, there has to be some connection; some combination of artistic genious coupled with human frailty that brings about the all-too-familiar result.
Again, it’s hard for me to relate; impossible for me to answer.
But we mourn the loss nonetheless. Since I heard the news, I have had this assortment of songs rotating through my head:
“How Will I Know”
“I Wanna Dance With Somebody”
“Where Do Broken Hearts Go”
Broken hearts. On this day, that is where musical medley seems to have stopped.
JG
(Source: USA Today)
Originally posted 2/13/2012
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