Several readers — thank you theredbaron, Jill, and COat50 — wrote me yesterday to inform me that Mitrice Richardson had been found. As in, her body had been found, life long since lost from it. (LA Times account here.)

It was another reader who informed me of her case, nearly a year ago. She thought I might be interested in trying to publicize her disappearance, partly because at the time it was getting insufficient attention from the press. That she was a Black woman mattered to me; she was likely experiencing a psychological break of sorts, untreated; also, that she was a lesbian mattered (or so, at least, I gathered from some of the news reports and readers).  All beings deserve all our love and care; some, though, get less of it from the world as it is right now, and any of us with heart-mind-gut has a special responsibility to do what they can, when they can. (Here was that first post.)

These days, I haven’t been able to do much. But I kept this notice in my blog’s sidebar since that first post, hoping someone would maybe see something or remember something or pass something on. The proverbial Hail Mary pass, the fielder’s glove tossed in the air as the ball flies past:

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