Personalities' public train wrecks bore me as a rule. So often they are the result of an egoistic life dogpaddling in its own narcissism: though the loss of a human soul is always tragic, the newsworthy details rarely are, in fact, newsworthy. We make it worse, having lost any sense of decorum, and follow such sad cases around like curs sniffing after cheap leather pants in the rain. We stay on the scent long enough to revel in our superiority, then look for someone else to sneer at. The inevitable outcome is predictable, the details rarely enlighten, and after awhile the simple fact of expensive brokenness is tedious.
So don't ask me why Amy's death draws me to pray for her, "may she find healing, Lord, in your presence."
Unless it's that I've known too many Amys.
Tomorrow, I'll pray for the ones I don't know -- the daughters and sons of friends who grieve and hope daily. But tonight, it's just about a girl with a broken soul, and the parents who have finally and truly lost her.
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