Within one month from the day our family left Hawaii I found myself thinking twice of Summer Shipp, a woman I’d not seen since 1986.

The first time, it was because the flight attendant attendant introduced herself as Summer, and I hadn’t met anyone else in nearly 20 years with that name.

The second time, it was because I heard on the morning news that Summer Shipp was missing, and last seen while conducting a marketing survey in Independence.

For what would have been three years next month, the Friends of Summer — and I — have held out hope that she’d return home, safe and sound.

But that’s not going to happen.

Summer’s body was found in the Little Blue River in Independence, Missouri.

I’d tell you just how much that news rips me apart, but I’m not sure I could even find the words to describe the empty, ravaged feeling I have in the pit of my soul, that little part that still wants to believe in happy endings despite all the damn evidence in the world to the contrary.

My heart goes out to Summer’s daughter, Brandy — whom I last saw when she was still working through her rebellious teen years. This kind of discovery is no closure at all, but someday justice will be served.

I wish you the strength and the patience to see that day come.

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