I took for granted that I would see Whitney Houston with greying temples commanding the stage as an elegantly dressed septuagenarian. It was a no-brainer that I would hear her unique, textured speaking voice in an interview as she made witty and slightly irreverent jokes while she bounced a fat, happy grandbaby on her lap and hummed a lullaby on the fly. I just knew she would sing at the (far in the future) funeral for Aretha Franklin.
Given the troubles she’s had over the past decade or two, it’s not exactly surprising that Whitney Houston died young, but my goodness it hurt. And I’m just a fan, we’re not even related. Never met the woman. Never saw her perform live.
When I read that she died, I somehow felt like I lost something/someone. Almost like she was some crazy, beautiful, distant relative I didn’t get to talk to enough and she died before I got to tell her how much she meant to me and how awesome she was.
I miss her.