News of Whitney Houston’s death has exploded my Facebook and Twitter feeds over the last 12 hours. Her epic voice was part of my middle school soundtrack, and I didn’t know any girls who didn’t want to sing just like her. I know I did, much to the chagrin of our family dog – the only creature I was brave enough to let witness my high notes. Her songs moved many hearts, including mine. All I remember after that Kevin Costner movie is that Whitney fell into a bottle, turned into tabloid fodder, and just kinda disappeared.
Her struggle with addiction and domestic violence was tragic. The fact that it was so public makes it even more difficult to process. She must have been really miserable. It is sad that the world doesn’t get to hear her sing again – but then, the voice we loved has been gone for years.
Whitney Houston’s battle with drugs and boozes isn’t necessarily any more epic than the same struggle experienced by not-famous addicts and their families every day. Her death isn’t more tragic than the death of a guy who lost his family and friends years ago and froze to death under a bridge. Continue reading