We grieve when a celebrity dies, whether the star’s light blinks out before it’s time or fades away at a ripe old age.
Our grief doesn’t spring from a personal, intimate relationship. Rarely have most of us had any more contact with the newly deceased than through television, movies, the stage or the playing field.
And yet our sadness seems more than some primal despair over the death of another human being.
So why do we grieve, even weep, for someone we didn’t really know?
Because it feels like a little piece of us has died with them.
TV, film, music and sports stars all create — hit shows, blockbuster movies, No. 1 singles and spectacular plays. And those creations are touchstones to moments in our personal history.
The passing of Whitney Houston hit me hard. Not just because of the tragic nature of her life and death at age 48 on Saturday. Or my sorrow for the family she left behind. Or the awful realization that such an angelic voice will never be heard again.
I grieve because she was there at moments in my life I’ll never forget.
“The Bodyguard” and its indelible soundtrack came out in 1992 when I was a lovesick teenager. Heartbroken over the loss of what I thought was love, “I Will Always Love You” was the salve for my aching soul. I cried, felt empowered, cried and finally moved on. To this day, I can’t hear Whitney’s rendition of that song without thinking of the boy who broke my heart.
Whitney was there when I needed comfort.
Another song on “The Bodyguard” soundtrack triggers a memory from a year later.
As a requirement for freshman gym class, I had to put together a gymnastics floor routine, something I was actually looking forward to. I was a pretty talented gymnast before a growth spurt in the seventh grade ended my gymnastic pursuits with a broken nose on the trampoline.
I’d gotten used to my longer limbs by freshman year and was ready to show off my skills. We got bonus points for setting our routine to music, so I selected Whitney’s “Queen of the Night,” a high-energy song with lots of dramatic flair.
The routine went off without a hitch. I even made it down into full splits.
It was one of the last things I did before spending two months in a wheelchair and on crutches.
The next day I did a backbend without properly stretching. I popped the quad muscles in both legs. The injury required extensive rehab but thankfully no surgery. It was, however, the first in a long line of injuries that plagued me through college.
Whitney was there for my last day as an unbroken athlete.
She’ll also be there after my last day in this realm. I want her version of “Jesus Loves Me” played at my funeral. A child’s song delivered with the certainty of an angel’s voice. A comfort to those I leave behind.
So the least I can do now is be there for Whitney. To grieve her passing in honor of the role her music has played in my life.
Rest in peace, Miss Whitney. May you find the serenity that eluded you in life but that you granted to so many others.
Contact Heather Bremer: 640-4867 or heather.bremer@heraldbulletin.com
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Heather Bremer: With Miss Whitney's death, a part of us is gone, too
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