The thing about death is it is all proximity and storyline and Bobbi Kristina Brown, she lost her mother, the gorgeous voiced Whitney Houston, to a drug overdose, has now followed in her footsteps.
You just wish the woman had made it, had found someway to get to the happy ending that eluded her mother and while certainly any celebrity death is a form of rubber necking, ones like this, or JFK Jr or Jeff Buckley, as they seem to fit in from one generation to the next are just such fanciful horror stories that vicariously and terrifyingly they allow us stare into the heart of darkness.
The other side is the fulfilling of a plan and a pattern, a sense by which one sees what has happened and projects it forward and here this sad, drug addicted girl is a form of perfect symbolism, a spiral you hope continues of rebirth: if there is a synchronized pattern to life, somewhere must have placed the pattern there and that has always been the conceptual center of life after death.
While her family mourns Bobbi, and we gaze in horror and schadenfreude, it leaves you to wonder about whoever the kid was, how much of a chance did she have with even so every chance in the world to be happy and just it doesn’t happen sometimes. It is insurmountable.
22 years old.
Meanwhile Bobby Brown, her father, just bought a new daughter into the world.
Sad story, just a shame Whitney’s kid didn’t get any better.