Whitney--Reality Check People.

Being in the mountains on the night Whitney Houston died was surreal--surreal in the manner that the only communication was seeing what happened on the news.  Remember those days?  The days before Facebook, texting, and instant messaging?  Up in the boondocks, with no cell phone service or Internet access, it's just like being in those days.  So other than the "Oh my god," between myself and my mom and the "Should've had her on my Death Poll," from my husband, nothing more was said.

Which is actually kind of cool because I was able to think about her life and my own actual thoughts without the flood of emotions from others, forming something anything but mine.  I knew the moment I got home, Facebook would be flooded with Whitney sorrow and songs, so decided to jot my own thoughts down before I logged in.

Whitney.  She was an icon in the 80s and into the 90s.  I loved her!  At fifteen I was in a pageant--yes, scary.  I was a WI Finalist for Teen something or another.  I cannot even tell you how many girls sang "I Believe the Children Are the Future..." I didn't.  I tried writing and delivering a speech, which I completely bombed.  But the experience was cool.  I remember getting to see her perform at the Providence Civic Center when I was a senior in high school.  She rocked it.  I'll never forget how stunning she was in that long, sparkly, emerald green dress.  That voice that could move mountains.  Two years later, when she sang at the Super Bowl--1991--I was brought to tears.  Perhaps it was because it was the first time I had experienced a war in my lifetime and the patriotism our country was experiencing was a bit overwhelming.  Or perhaps it was because she had one of the voices that did that--could bring an audience to tears.

And then she met Bobby Brown and made the choices of an idiot.  She decided that drugs came before her family, before her daughter.  I stopped loving her, and her music.  She was no longer the idol, the beauty, the singer with this god-given talent.  And it pissed me off.

Last night as I saw her death splashed all over the news, I could only shake my head.  Newscaster after newscaster spoke of the tragedy, the sorrow, the shock of her death.  Really?  Come on, people--are you in need of a reality check?

It's like the guy who's been smoking for 20 years, who's shocked when he is told he has lung cancer; the alcoholic who is shocked that their liver is failing; the sex addict who cannot believe he has HIV.  I mean, really.

She was a druggie, a junkie, a waste of an unbelievable talent.  She chose drugs over her daughter--her own daughter wasn't as important as her next fix.  And there's shock over her death?  The only thing shocking is that she lived to 48.

So I'm not shocked over her death, but I am saddened for her family and for her.  I hope that with the loss of young celebrities, people that choose drugs and alcohol realize that no one is invincible.  No amount of money, no amount of friends, no huge mansion on the hill is going to save your body when it's abused.  Perhaps looking at the reality of her death--seeing it for what it really was, will allow people to think twice before trying crack, smoking a joint, shooting up heroin.

She died because she was a drug addict.  No frills, no whistles.  And now her daughter has to grow up without a mother--not that hers was ever really there anyway.  With that Rest In Peace, Whitney--and I hope that one day your daughter will be able to live in peace.  Sad day.

Enough said.