Though it is well past the anniversary of her death, which was February 11th of 2012, I find it necessary to dedicate some words to her because she has been on my mind a lot recently.
She had the voice that made you want to dance with somebody, give good love, and exhale life’s sorrows.
Behind this angelic voice was a life of her own. It was one that drug her though the dirt and then allowed her to get up and dust herself off only for it to happen over and over again.
Cameras and tabloids had it all wrong. She wasn’t just a singer, an actress or a drug addict. She was a daughter, a mother, a friend. And, though a brighter light shone on her troubles than on the average person’s, her problems were no bigger and asked for the same amount of sympathy. In no way did she deserve the chuckles and judgement that the world threw at her.
I’ve advocated that truth for as long as I can remember. Can you imagine a 10-year-old little girl defending Whitney as though she were her lawyer? I would shoot darts at anyone who attempted to attack her character, and I had no mercy on those who dared to criticize her art.
Her music was and still is everything to me. From the 1980s to the 2010s, I love it all. Growing up on my grandma’s front porch, I have never seen expiration dates on music. Matter of fact, to me it was more like the older, the better.
With Whitney it was no different. But, somehow it was. Her voice was timeless. She was the disco that had shy me dancing in the shower and the angel that put me to sleep.
Her absence has had a greater effect on me than I could have ever imagined. I’ve had that horrible feeling from never having the opportunity to say goodbye, even though I also never had the chance to say hello.
The world misses her almost as much as I do.