Simone

“Simone?” 

The Reverend looked at her, and she looked up from her tissues. Jerome practically lifted her up from the pew. It seemed like she had lost muscle along with her mind that day. Nobody in Savannah expected the valedictorian to show up this way - a crumpled version of a once hailed future leader of this town. The last time she took the podium was a lesson in strength and grace. She made the paper that day. Six months later, her mom would be in it, too.

“Simone?”

Jerome placed his arm on the small of her back this time, gently pushing her down the aisle. They were high school sweethearts who were very compatible on most days. But today, they looked like warden and convict. Was Simone dragging her feet along the old, maroon carpet out of grief or fear? Her great aunt momentarily wondered if her grand niece, whom she called “Sissy Simone”, was having a stroke.

“We’re coming, Rev,” Jerome said. His voice cracked slightly, but he remained steady in his gait. Step by step, he held onto his love as she shuffled past grief-stricken family and friends. She thought about how this was unlike any version of how she envisioned walking down the aisle with Jerome, and then realized that her mother would miss their wedding. The thought buckled her knees momentarily, but Jerome’s strong arms caught her and she continued towards the stage.

She forced a smile through tears at the smiling choir who stood like an eager audience watching their favorite comedian approach the microphone. They donned purple gowns and Bibles, and ranged from teenage to elderly. Some were familiar to Simone, and others were strangers. The church always had them at hand for moments like these. Do they go to sleep on a Friday not knowing if they’ll perform on Sunday? Simon shivered at the thought. Cold, calculated, and planning for the unplanned. That’s how it was when Simone’s mother passed. Sudden. Unexplainable. Unreal. Her world ended and these people expected it to happen. They just didn’t know who it would happen to. 

She reached the podium. Or, Jerome pushed her to it. She gripped the edges, and then slid per palms, one by one, down the side of her dress, from breast to belt. They were too sweaty for a good grip. She needed a good grip to get through this. 

Jerome stayed by her side, looking equal parts awkward and sad while he watched his girl turn into a woman. They had never known their relationship without Shelly. She played the role of jury when they were dating as high schoolers, questioning their motives, debating their love. But recently, just about the time the acceptance letters arrived from college, she morphed into their advocate. They overheard Shelly telling her sisters, neighbors, and favorite grocery baggers what the two love birds would do over the summer, how they would go off to different colleges but planned to make it work, and how she felt they would one day get married. At that, they would blush and steal a glance at each other, satisfied that she finally accepted them; she saw them the way they saw themselves. 

Jerome wished they had more time with the advocate, and less with the juror. But, they were young, and nobody expects to lose a parent to a heart attack at age 48.

Simone’s throat cleared.

“Is there any way to explain the feeling you have when your parent dies?”

She looked out into the audience. Everyone stared, hoping the question was rhetorical. She saw her great-grandmother, who just celebrated her 100th birthday last month. How did her mother get 50 years less than Gigi? She felt awful thinking this way, but she didn’t like Gigi all that much, and she really loved her mother.

She continued.

“I have asked myself this question over the past ten days. You can read about the feeling in a self-help book, or ask ChatGPT to provide you with a checklist. You may be inclined to speak to a therapist, or a great man like Rev. But … but … there is no way to describe how you feel. At least, that’s how it is for me. I can only say that my mother was a special woman, and she loved me more than she loved just about anything or anyone else – “ 

Simone’s voice cracked, and she paused. She had visualized the pause, so she took her time to find her breath. Jerome’s hand massaged her back in a gentle, circular motion. She dabbed her eyes with a tissue and looked up again. Now they were crying, too. 

“She loved me just about more than anything or anyone else. Except her dog, of course.” The crowd politely laughed. “So, I have not come to terms with her passing, and I have not been able to adequately explain how it impacts me and will impact me in the years to come. But, I can say this. If you have a mother, and she passes, you are now the only person you can count on to always love you, no matter what. No offense, honey.”

The crowd politely laughed again, as Simone smiled at Jerome.

“You do not know what it’s going to be like when you get here. Two weeks ago, I would not have been able to imagine it. But, here I am. Death is a part of life. We all know that. I knew that, too. But it was beyond my reach until today. Today, I feel it all around me. Death came to her, and now I feel like it’s coming for me.”

She released the podium and practically fell off the stage, as Jerome struggled to keep her upright. The audience gasped, and someone let out an explosive cry that echoed through the church. Simone spun around and vomited on the ground, spilling partially-digested egg salad onto Jerome’s leather shoes. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s OK,” Jerome replied.

—----------

On the one year anniversary of Shelly’s passing, Simone was stocking cans at the back of Aisle 22, in the Costco that opened five miles from her childhood home. She was listening to a podcast on grief and loss when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Simone, child, how are you?” said the Reverend. 

“Oh, Rev! How are you?” Simone said, while slowly standing up from a squat.

“What are you doing here?” 

“I work here.”

“What about school, Simone?” 

“I’m on hiatus,” she replied.

“I see,” he said. “How is Jerome?” 

“I’m not too sure, Rev. We broke up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Simone stiffened. She thought of her awful year and her revelation about her sophomoric relationship and how she had to move on with her life because, if her mom’s death taught her anything, it was that life is way, way too short.

“Don’t be, Rev,” she replied. “It was for the best.”

The Reverend nodded, smiled, and extended his arm, grasping her shoulder. 

“Would you be our guest for dinner tomorrow?”

Simone knew she did not want to go, but heard herself say, “That’s so kind of you. What can I bring?”

“Just bring yourself, Simone. 6 pm. Same house.”

The next day, the Reverend Wallace and his wife, Anne, prepared a meal for Simone that she would have loved. Perfectly cooked steaks, buttery green beans, salted wild rice, and fudgy brownies without nuts. Simone hated nuts. This is the kind of detail people know when a town keeps kids through adulthood.

6 pm passed. The Reverend sent Simone a text message. He called, but her voicemail was full. He thought of calling Jerome, but then remembered. He still had Shelly’s number in his phone, but knew it was just for nostalgia and not for any use. 

“I’m worried, Anne,” he said.

“Me too,” she replied.

Someone got permission to do a wellness check a couple days later. Southern police are sheepish about that kind of thing involving, but they finally agreed. 

There was nothing in the apartment. No trace of Simone. 

Weeks went by, and nobody heard from her. One day, Anne went to the mailbox and found a letter from Simone, nearly missed as it was hidden within the glossy, sticky circulars. Simone’s eulogy for Shelly was tucked inside. No note included.

Is there any way to explain the feeling you have when your parent dies?

I have asked myself this question over the past ten days. You can read about the feeling in a self-help book, or ask ChatGPT to provide you with a checklist. You may be inclined to speak to a therapist, or a great man like Rev. But, there is no way to describe how you feel. At least, that’s how it is for me. I can only say that my mother was a special woman, and she loved me more than she loved just about anything or anyone else, except her dog, of course. [PAUSE FOR LAUGHTER]. So, I have not come to terms with her passing, and I have not been able to adequately explain how it impacts me and will impact me in the years to come. But, I can say this. If you have a mother, and she passes, you are now the only person you can count on to always love you, no matter what. [PAUSE AND SMILE AT JEROME].

You do not know what it’s going to be like when you get here. Two weeks ago, I would not have been able to imagine it. But, here I am. Death is a part of life. We all know that. I knew that, too. But it was beyond my reach until today. Today, I feel it all around me. Death came to her, and now I feel like it’s coming for me. But, that would be wrong. Life is still, God willing, far, far ahead of me, as she would have wanted.

When you lose a parent, you lose the person who tells you that you can be anything you want to be when you grow up. You lose your advocate. You lose your cheerleader. When you lose a parent, you feel untethered to the ground – a bouncy house bopping about the earth, unstable and dangerous. 

But you do come back to earth, once the wind dies down. I know I will. 

Let me close with gratitude. She always said, ‘Gratitude is the attitude!’ I am grateful for what she gave me. The courage to apply to my dream college, and the support to get in. The love she felt towards Jerome, my soulmate, who stands with me today. The compassion she gave me when I struggled with Bipolar II, which is a diagnosis I have not shared publicly before today. 

I will try to make her proud. I love you, Mommy. Yours forever, Simone.

Anne folded the note quickly, before tears wet the delicate loose leaf. She ran inside to call her husband, hoping they could help the young woman who was bouncing around them, loved by so many and understood by so few.