A Letter to Bobbi Kristina Brown

Dear Bobbi Kristina,

I recently watched the interview you had with Oprah Winfrey. I am so very sorry for your loss and yet so proud of the strength, resilience and courage you showed.

I, too, lost my mother, but at a much later stage in life than you have. I was a huge fan of your mother, and although I never met her, I didn't have to know her to know this:

Your mother loved you profoundly, deeply, unconditionally and completely, and that love will never, ever go away.

As hard as it is to lose one's mother, the one thing that helps me even after all these years -- my mother died almost fourteen years ago -- is to remember what I had. Many people go through this world not ever having been truly loved by their mothers. You see these people every day -- they walk through this world wounded, working out their issues on other people, externalizing the internal hurt they have from the absence of their mother's love.

Not us.

I used to think that every child was as loved by their mothers as I was by mine. Not so. When I grew up and realized this wasn't the case, I realized what a blessing it was to have started my life with someone who loved me because I was hers, who loved me just because, and who loved me just as I was. Having had that foundation prepared me to love and to accept love. Again, not everybody grows up with that loving foundation.

But we did.

I hope that with each day you remember your mother with more joy and less sorrow, more laughter and fewer tears. Like you said in your interview, I'm convinced that she's still "got you," just as I'm convinced that my mom still has "got me." And if you continue to do what she taught you, you'll be alright.

Peace and blessings,

Black Woman Blogging

Whitney Houston: A Child of God Called Home

Whitney Houston's passing has left me without words to say how I feel.

It's easy to think of her loss in terms of it being a premature dimming of an extraordinarily bright star in the music firmament. But we forget she was somebody's mother, somebody's daughter, and, most of all, a child of God who struggled and was deserving of grace and mercy, just like you and me.

I don't want to speculate on how she died. I'd rather remember how she lived when she was at her best. And, to my mind, she was at her best when she was singing songs of praise. For all the people who love her version of "I Will Always Love You" as her best song, for me, my favorite Whitney Houston song is "I Love The Lord" from the soundtrack to "The Preacher's Wife." Even as she's acting you can tell she felt that song from the depth of her heart, and her voice just soars like an angel when she sings it. Only God could have created a voice like Whitney's. That the last song she sang publicly was "Yes, Jesus Loves Me" is fitting. Her singing career ended as it began, singing a song of praise that I'm sure she felt from her heart.

So that's how I will choose to remember her: A child of God at her best when singing His praises. A child of God called home.

Rest in peace, Whitney. Heaven's choir just got a whole lot better.

Amy Winehouse, Unsung

Today I heard that Amy Winehouse passed away. I'm so sad for what could have been. She was a unique and amazing talent, a voice that you recognized instantly because she sounded like no other. I put Amy Winehouse up there with the greats -- Etta James, Dinah Washington, Whitney, Aretha, and the like. It wasn't that she could do the vocal gymnastics of Christina Aguilera or Mariah Carey -- it was her phrasing, that of an old soul who had listened to far more masters and learned far more from them than her contemporaries ever did. Her talent is what many young artists hope for and will never, ever achieve.

My heart and prayers go out to her family. What an incredible, incredible loss. I can't help but think that if she had known her true worth and the value of her incredible gift, she would still be here.

My favorite Amy Winehouse song is "Me and Mr. Jones." It reminds me of my childhood, of my mom, of family card game gatherings with clouds of cigarette smoke, fatty foods, Sock-It-To-Me cake, Seven and Sevens all around, and shouts of "Who dealt this mess?". It is the music of my mother's generation. Plus, I think even my mom would have smiled a wry smile at the turn of lyric, "What kind of fuckery are we?" and gotten up to do the stroll. Here's the link:
http://youtu.be/HXjx2fo4XhA

Rest in peace, Amy Winehouse. I wish you had known how truly phenomenal you were.