The second part of my series “The Lost Kids” is out this week.

The day before the story came out, a Facebook friend across the country posted a really beautiful quote from “A Prayer for Owen Meaney” by John Irving.

I found it an odd coincidence.

The story of Cynthia Clark Harvey’s struggle to get her mentally ill daughter help has haunted me for years. I finally decided this fall that I could disclose the conflict of interest that was keeping me from writing about Erica (Cynthia and I have been in writing classes and groups together) and help her mother get the message out about how dangerous wilderness-therapy camps can be.

Erica died during a hike on her very first day at one of those camps in 2002.  

When we sat down for a formal interview, Cynthia mentioned that in the months preceeding Erica’s death, she had often read to Erica at night when she couldn’t sleep. One of the books she read to her was “A Prayer for Owen Meaney.”

Here’s the quote my FB friend posted. I don’t even know the woman well enough to ask why she posted it. But I’m glad she did.

When someone you love dies, and you’re not expecting it, you don’t lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time – the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes – when there’s a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she’s gone, forever – there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.