This is Summer Shipp. She’s a Kansas City woman who’s been missing since December 8, when she disappeared while conducting door-to-door market research.

I haven’t seen Summer since 1986. That’s when an old boyfriend of mine, Dan, rented a room in the upstairs of her house. It’s been 19 years, but Summer doesn’t look much different from how I remember her. The weird thing is that, until exactly one month before her disappearance, I hadn’t thought of Summer a single time in those 19 years.

On November 8, as my very tired family completed the last leg of our long move from Kansas City to Hawaii, the Delta attendant on our flight out of Salt Lake City introduced herself as “Summer.” She had the same sunny, wild reddish hair. The same doe eyes. The same contagious happiness. I didn’t catch her last name, but I was rather certain she wasn’t the Summer that I’d known all those years ago.

Even if she had been, I wouldn’t have had much to say to her. I’d only met her two or three times, so I’m sure she wouldn’t remember someone like me. Were it not for her memorable name — and the insecurities that I, at 19, felt about my boyfriend living with another woman — I probably wouldn’t have remembered her, either. Still, I mentioned my curiosity to Hubby who rolled his eyes as he does whenever I think I recognize someone from my past but don’t want to make conversation. And, when we got off the plane, I figured that was the last time I’d think about Summer.

Then, on December 9, the news reported her as missing. Her daughter Brandy, who I remembered as a punk-haired, rebellious teenager, talked to the reporters with the grace and the grief of a full-grown woman. Every day for weeks, I watched the news, hoping to learn that Summer had come home. We left town for the holidays and returned, and I couldn’t help noticing that the news no longer mentioned the search for Summer. Half-hopeful — and half full of dread — I Googled her name, praying that she’d been found.

There was no new news on the search for Summer. Nothing at all. In fact, in the last two weeks, I’d figured the search must have ended. For better or worse, I figured someone knew what became of Summer.

I was wrong.

Once again, the media has moved on to something more sensational. The tsunami, of course, is a tragedy worth coverage, as are the mudslides in California. But it’s not like newspapers don’t have fluid limits; it’s not like they have to cut some stories to make room for others and, if they do, I’m sure Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston wouldn’t mind sparing some of the print that’s been devoted to them.

Now there’s a website devoted to the ongoing search for Summer, and tonight her friends and family are throwing a benefit to help fund private search efforts. Please keep them in your prayers, and consider making a donation yourself.