Whitney Houston’s death sparked an interesting conversation last night.
An element of sadness inevitably accompanies the realization that someone’s physical presence is no more. We’ve all experienced that moment when we’ve realized that no matter how much we wish it, no matter how hard we may will it, no matter how strongly we pray to wake up and realize it’s all within our mind, from this moment forward that person is gone. We’ll never touch him or her again. We’ll never hear their voice. We’ll never share a laugh alongside them.
One of my friends posted photos of his visit today to the World Trade Center Memorial. I haven’t been. As much as I don’t believe in striving to make sense of life, I don’t believe I can handle that visit yet. I went to the site years ago and fell apart upon seeing the name of someone I had known; my final spring at college I walked from Rites of Spring and starting laughing as I looked up and saw my friend walking towards me. As he came into the light looking at me, I realized that his confusion was based on me calling out a name other than his own. That’s when I really realized Ted was gone.
Last night’s conversation centered on the choices we make in life and what it means when those choices directly contribute negatively to our death.
I’m not passing any judgment on this woman who died. I can’t begin to fathom what her life was like. And I’m not even going to begin speculating on what brought her to the well publicized drug state she and the world found her in over the years. That whole “until you’ve walked in someone else’s shoes”… And she’s a mother. That’s just rough.
But sometimes it’s hard to not feel a tad more pain over the death of someone who had done nothing but show up for work. Who did not choose a path of self-destruction but a path of honest self-fulfillment instead.
Recently, a story caught my eye in the NY Times. A woman was stepping into the elevator when it suddenly shot up; crushing her to death in the process. One of last night’s conversationalists happened to be a friend of this woman. Understandably, the fact that Whitney Houston had just died didn’t produce quite the same reaction from her as it did for a number of my facebook friends.
We don’t get anywhere productive questioning the fairness of life and death. And we don’t get any closer to understanding the when, why’s and how’s the more times we ask.
I don’t know. The longer I continue to live this life, the more questions I have and the more questions I dismiss. Let’s just go. Rock on in full force.
Soundtrack: Randoms at the Grammys, Adele and the kick-ass Florence + The Machine. My God.
Lessons from Icarus 
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