Mourning Amy

Didn't know her. Had heard maybe 3 songs, ever. But I am mourning Amy Winehouse. The strange part is I cannot figure out why. I could cite the loss of a great talent or a boundary-breaker, but that's just what I've been reading in the reports. Apparently her vocal style and persistence opened up some pretty locked doors in latter-day British music. I learned that today reading only a few of the reports.

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.