Sunday, July 24, 2011

Thoughts on Amy Winehouse

Another talented musician is dead at age 27.  When I first saw the byline on the news yesterday -- "Amy Winehouse Found Dead in Apartment" -- I had a very illogical gut reaction.  I first thought, "Maybe not -- maybe this will turn out to be a mistake."  Maybe my skepticism stems from the plethora of twitter-induced celebrity death hoax rumors, or maybe it's a bizarre defense mechanism I've employed in the event of sudden (though here, arguably not wholly unpredictable), young death.  I know I didn't believe the doctors at first when told that Brian had died.  I didn't think they were lying to me, but I hoped there would still be some miracle, that he'd suddenly start breathing again.  That's what I imagined might happen to Amy Winehouse -- that CNN jumped the gun when she flatlined, but that resuscitation efforts would prove successful, and that her life story would not come to such an abrupt and early end.  I guess it takes me some time to accept death when it pops up randomly and seemingly suddenly, even to people I've never met.

Why does it take me time to absorb this?  It is because death it is so unforgiving, unrelenting, and permanent.  There's no coming back.  That's it for Amy.  No more Grammys, no more hits, no more best-selling albums, no more arrests, no more chances at rehab, no more tattoos, no more wild nights, no more chances at true love.  She is gone now, forever.  And, one day and multiple reliable news sources later, I have no choice but to believe it. 

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