I, like the rest of the world was so shocked when she died. People can say they saw it coming, but I could never stick to that. It’s troubling for people to say, because some part of these people didn’t know what it was like to be co-dependent on something in their life.
I could never wish, predict, or tell death to someone.
The more and more I think about her passing, it gets sad, tragic and oddly personal - because, she reminds me of my father. He was a person who taught me to let go of my judgments on people with addiction. He was addicted to alcohol, cigarettes, and gambling. Life was complicated for him, and that carried through to his heart, and his death.
When I was young, I used to be mad at my father for abandoning me, but through the years, I realized he had some stuff in his life that held him back. I ended up being the second of five kids, and maybe it was my place in line that puts me at this spot today.
I think the lesson in humanity here is that you can’t condemn someone for things that you may never know about. It’s like kindergarten, if you don’t get the chance to listen, you might not have any room to talk.
In retrospect, I knew Amy as much as I knew my father - most of it was secondhand, but parts were personal. Being a fan, I knew her beautiful, raw voice—her immense talent. The way that drugs aside, her nervousness and shyness when she sang made it oddly endearing to watch her.
I remember watching the Grammys when she performed via satellite. Beyond the craziness, you could see that she was honestly overjoyed to win. It always somehow felt like she might not have known her own talent. She had a charisma and a beauty through her exterior that made such a raw talent to watch. I will miss being able to love hearing her voice live, just as much as I will always miss out on having the chance to reconnect with my father.
I hope that she finds a better place in the world now.