Amy Winehouse RIP

[Speedbag]

Wow.

But, sadly, not much of a surprise.

[Ddan]

+1  kind of a shame

[fastwin]

Wow is right! No shit. I haven't heard about that. Sadly enough, it's true... not much of a surprise. Not a huge fan but I was interested. Heard more about her problems than about her music. Sad.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2018020/Amy-Winehouse-dead--Found-dead-London-flat.html

[Vindingo]

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club

[mojo]

For the longest time, I never knew she was a singer, and I never new why she was famous (like Snooky).  The only thing you ever saw about her in the news was something having to do with drugs and/or rehab.
What a waste of talent.

[Speeddog]

Sad to hear she couldn't pull her life out of the crapper.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club

Weird, hadn't seen that.

[RAT900]

well that was a determined mess that finally resolved itself

my pity is reserved for the family that had to endure it

[ungeheuer]

27.

What a waste...

[Stella]

My heart hurts for tormented souls.  RIP Amy. 

[ducatiz]

hug your kids every day and teach them well..

















to this

[Howie]

hug your kids every day and teach them well..

Wise words indeed.

[RAT900]

Ducatiz...here are the words that go to those pictures... a lot of us have those photo albums


Kid Sisters

I was sitting on a bench in the Northampton court; they were bringing my sister in to determine her state of competence. The court had been cleared of people awaiting review of their various offenses. The court officers were called to bring my sister in. We heard her loud voice demanding explanation, echoing and bouncing off the hard marble walls in the hall, breaking the dead-silence as she was ushered in. I was unprepared for what I saw, it had been months; I had to convince myself that this really was my sister.

My sister Elizabeth was a sweet little girl once, filled with imagination and notions of a magical universe of whimsical gardens, exquisite talking animal characters and perpetually beautiful days. Her world was a sky blue bedroom with linen-dressed windows that gazed out on the lawn behind an old Montclair house.

She had dark brown hair that waved and flipped, large brown eyes, and a smile that would sweeten the air around her; her voice was always soft, the sounds passing over her lips would curl through the air lazily and dissipate like smoke drifting from the chimney of a fairy-tale's cottage.

But that was then....now she was seated on the defendant's bench; the judge ordered the testimony of the medical experts about her condition. She nervously jerked her head around to see who was in the courtroom; she saw me, looked surprised, smiled and waved, thinking I was there to help her. I was, but not in any way she could understand.

Testimony was given about her hospitalization for complete liver failure. She had no address of record, indigent, homeless. She had refused rehabilitation opting to return to the streets to continue serving her demons. A week or so of hospitalization and medications allowed her liver to begin functioning again, two weeks later she was back in crisis. The doctor described her physical and psychological state in painful detail, a "pre-autopsy" report if ever there was one.

It was noted that she reeked of alcohol when she was brought in that morning from the streets and interviewed.
I cautiously glanced over at my sister, her hair still deep brown and thick, but unwashed, uncombed, tangled and long. Her smile exposed a mouth missing fully half of its teeth, the voice was hoarse; a croaking noise as she blurted objections to the clinical assessment. Her skin was still a solid yellow from the liver failures.

I grew braver and now studied this sad creature who vaguely resembled my sister. She was wearing a sky-blue satin-like jogging suit, stained and greasy. The color reminded me of her childhood bedroom. I wondered how that once-innocent child could simply have evaporated so many years ago and come to be replaced by this.

I recalled reading to that little girl at bedtime; E.B. White, Milne; with titles like Little Bear and Winnie, Charlotte and Stuart Little, how she used to giggle and smile at the tales and my exaggerated delivery of the text. Breezes would caress the linen curtains and they would part, yielding fresh air into our stifling house. Eventually she would grow sleepy, before closing her eyes she would look at me and would ask that I turn on the fan next to her bed; she said it would blow the spiders away from her, I always complied.

Next door in the master bedroom, darkness and anger festered and stewed. Our parents' resentments and addictions permeated our world, ugliness as pervasive as the stench of boiling cabbage in a tenement hallway. Breezes and fans could never blow the aroma of that misery away from us, the smell stuck to us all.

My sister took the stand to rebut the testimony about her condition. Oddly I found myself rooting for her to give a credible performance. I was the one who precipitated the entire incarceration and hearing, yet here I was hoping desperately to see some shred of evidence that my sister could still think and might articulate some plausible explanation for her condition.

As if she could somehow spare everyone further embarrassment, that she might say something that would allow us all to breathe a sigh of relief at some gross misunderstanding. She failed. There was no misunderstanding. She is dying and we must watch.

My little sister is gone. Now there is only the scary homeless creature, the one you see in Penn Station when you miss the last train and await the morning schedule. We all have seen her emerge from the dark recesses and crevasses of public buildings, snarling and muttering to herself, ever watchful of her surroundings as she picks through the garbage cans.

Never let her catch you staring, she will come directly over and demand money, the fee she is owed because you chose to notice the horror of her waning existence and were caught.

When the judge called on me, I only asked him to please help us, I told him that we buried her older sister two decades before under similar, equally tragic circumstances. After reviewing his notes the judge offered his ruling, the court officers literally dragged this empty shell of what was once my sister from the courtroom, she spat outrage and curses at me as they passed.

I looked in her eyes for something to recognize, but my sister is no longer there. Stuart Little and Charlotte are gone, so are Winnie and Little Bear, a fragile world of childhood imagination, escape and fancy were no match for our childhood reality.

Liz was put away for 30 days of secured hospitalization. She has since been released to the streets of Northampton again so her demons can finish their work.

I await the phone call; when it comes I will bury her in the family plot beside her older sister; I will add her name to the stone.

I won't pray, the prayers that mattered for our family were unheard and went unanswered, like the ones for her older sister before her. Prayers after the fact would only ring hollow.

I will visit once it is over, perhaps I will bring E. B. White and for one last time I might read a quiet tale and try to hold fast to the better memories of my little sister

who slipped out of sight down some terrible rabbit hole so many years ago.

GFH

[fastwin]

I don't know what to say. Sad. Even more sad that it is so common. My older sister dodged that bullet. Thankfully.

My step son just buried his aunt (his Dad's oldest sister) on Friday. She had been dead in her apartment for two weeks when neighbors complained of the smell. Hundreds of empty beer cans and bottles everywhere. Everyone in her family knew it was coming. But they couldn't believe that none of them had called or checked on her in weeks. They had sort of given up on trying. Her poor dog was in there with her with no food or water. The poor creature is now a basket case. Probably will have to be put down due to it's emotional state. Needy for love but snaps and snarls when you approach.

Sorry about your little sis. My thoughts and prayers go out to her and you.

[pitbull]

My heart hurts for tormented souls.  RIP Amy. 

my thoughts as well.

she was insanely talented and it's a shame she burned out so young.

[sbrguy]

my thoughts as well.

she was insanely talented and it's a shame she burned out so young.

like the saying in the movie "the bronx tale" that rings so true. 

"the saddest thing in life is wasted talent"

RIP to those that went down the wrong path at some point, may you find the peace you were looking for.