So Long, Amy

On Saturday, July 23rd, I threw in a CD in the car, a Marc Cohn album, and listened along with my family.  On the same home-burned disc, it turns out, was another album, my apparent attempt at efficiency three years ago when I purchased downloads of two CDs on the same day and wanted to make a hard copy without wasting two blank discs.  The second album began to play when Marc Cohn finished.  It was Amy Winehouse's "Back to Black," music I probably hadn't listened to in two years.  It was good to hear.

The next morning, also by chance, I flipped channels on the TV for a few minutes and stopped when I saw Amy Winehouse's image.  I learned that she had died the day before, about seven hours before I played her CD.

Coincidence?  Most likely.  And yet...

So long, Amy.  Another one lost at age twenty-seven.  I think of her in-laws, who in the midst of Amy's substance abuse, begged fans to boycott her music to help her get back on track.

And I think of how I didn't listen.