If you don’t know someone personally, I’ve always found it hard to get broken up about their death. I saw people weeping in the streets when Diana died in that car crash–in Chicago! Never mind that our country had fought a revolution to boot her family out of power; people clearly felt enough of a kinship to weep as if they were close blood relatives. That’s a key piece of background information right there.

The thing is, I normally feel as devastated as anyone else when someone I actually know dies. I went through boxes of tissues after sweet old Nana Cummings passed on. That’s another pretty important piece of information, especially as it makes clear that I’m not some emotionless psychopath unable to feel empathy or pain.

When Cara died though…there was a mismatch. Like two wires got crossed somewhere upstairs or something. I felt detached, sad in a general way but not to the point of tears–as if I’d hardly known her, which was as far from the truth as one could get. Cara had been closer to me than even dear old Nana Cummings, but I couldn’t feel much of anything at all.

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