“Guys, Whitney Houston died today.”
Celebrating my birthday Saturday night, my friends and I broke off our laughter and merriment as our friend broke that news to us.
Whitney Houston – a pop singer, an actress, a producer and a model – had lived what most would describe as a melancholic life. But her death was sudden and unexpected. Several of us at once asked, “Wait a second, how old was she?”
Forty-eight. On the eve of my birthday, when everyone had been teasing me about aging, I felt numb. Forty-eight – it is one of those peculiar ages: not too young, but not too old.
I’m rarely the sentimental type, but after dinner I returned to my room and danced to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody.” I reckon that I’m not the only individual who did that on Saturday night, though I may be one of the few to admit it. I’m not the biggest fan of the pop diva, but I definitely recognize that the world has lost one of its exquisite talents.
Further details have been released since Saturday evening. Houston was under water and unconscious when she was found in a Beverly Hills hotel bathtub just a few hours before the annual pre-Grammy gala held at the hotel by Clive Davis, the man who discovered Houston and fashioned her into the famous pop superstar. Further details have not been released regarding the investigation.
I’ve asked University of Dallas students about Whitney Houston, and the attitude appears to be the same: It’s a tragic, cautionary tale of a woman who had it all and lost it all. Though one of the most talented and powerful voices will never sing again, Whitney Houston’s songs will continue to resonate around the world.