It’s been nearly a month since Anna Nicole Smith died and was nearly not buried near her deceased son, Daniel, in the Bahamas. To date, it seems a non-ending saga.
I’ll admit – I followed the courtroom hearings and daily episodes. I held a non-believing view that this was indeed taking place. It was too incredible—but all too real, as we saw. A novel with these bizarre characters and plot turns would not have made it to publication, I believe, because it was all so unnatural. The players were sinister Stern, likeable Larry, and mother-victim Virgie. A dead grandson and a newborn granddaughter. Cremation ashes and legal tangles with a dead husband’s estate and his surviving relatives, yet to be negotiated. Throw in Anna Nicole’s reliance on narcotics and a nutty “legal advisor” who seems to have pushed them on her. Ohmigosh!
The who-is-the-real-father puzzle (that made public notable male sex partners who talked with nostalgia of the nympho Playboy centerfold) remains nauseating in its insanity. Have Stern spit in a cup, get a soiled diaper from baby Dannielynn, and be done with this nonsense! Does DNA stand for “Don’t Name Anyone?”
Prove Birkhead the real daddy, nullify Stern’s name on the birth certificate, and allow Larry to set up a nursery for the cherubic child. Let Birkhead give Stern a nosebleed, and thereby, get the DNA sample he needs to claim his namesake. Nuclear science, this isn’t!
Many cable TV news reporters ask, “What is our fascination with her?” Why do people care and want this news that was overdone but hard to turn away from?
I think it’s because the actions and reactions of the parties involved are so unlike our own uncelebrated, “normal” lives. Our mouths drop open as each unnerving detail revealed about Anna Nicole’s life—and death—is outside what the majority of us believe is “right” about what should happen to another human being or about how we “should” live.
But at its heart, isn’t it caring about what is fair and dignified for Anna Nicole Smith—despite how undignified she may have lived her life at times? Shouldn’t justice win out amidst this nightmare? Because if not for her, someone with astounding beauty and millions of dollars, what then for us, the common masses? Do we stand a chance in this world? We like to believe we do, of course. In the end, we see that beauty and money don’t really matter. We all cry “let life be fair.” When we know it’s not.
My heart broke for Anna Nicole last September when her son died. Happening at the time of her daughter’s birth—it’s an unthinkable pain. We can identify with this celebrity who was forced to see her beloved son stone cold in a coffin, and feel grief for her loss.
I was just 10 years old when Marilyn Monroe died. I recall with distinctness my trek to the corner drugstore to view the black-and-white photos on the front pages of dozens of publications. I mourned for her. I couldn’t believe she was dead. I’d watched her movies. I suppose, in some ways, I viewed Marilyn as someone to aspire to be, back then, in 1962, when I was trying to figure out the world. But her tragic, early death told me, “No, that’s not the way to live.”
Not so for Anna Nicole. They say she idolized Marilyn Monroe. We all choose our heroes, our role models. It was Anna Nicole’s life to live. But in the end, what legacy does this now leave for Dannielynn?
If the nincompoops who only see $$ signs when they gaze into the child’s innocent face would step out of the way—if the newscasters and nearsighted money-grubbers would realize she’s a human being in need of love and not notoriety—if her natural father would be allowed to raise her surrounded by grandmothers, aunts and uncles instead of publicists and promoters—then maybe Anna Nicole’s legacy will turn in the nick of time and another neophyte Marilyn Monroe won’t emerge.
Those of us who follow this saga should pray that Dannielynn chooses a noble life, nonchalant about the nosy people who look at her as just a number in a world that counts dollars and cents instead of decorum and sense.
After all, that is what seems fair.
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