22 years ago today I got a life changing, bone-jarring phone call.
"Your name is Simone Frigo."
"Yes."
"Is your mother Nicki Hite?"
"Yes - is she okay..."
"Ma'am, I hate to tell you... but..."
The rest was a roller coaster of letting everyone else know - calling - finding - comforting...
Her parents, my Nana and Papaw, were on vacation in Ruidoso at their cabin. I had to call the church in Lovington, New Mexico so my Great Uncle Joe could find them.
Jimi - my oldest brother - literally challenged me and then ran out the door - trying to outrun the truth that our mother was dead.
Joe - my second to oldest brother - laid his head upon my dining room table and wept.
John found out from our aunt and uncle at the military school he was currently attending.
... I was just 17. Just. It was 6 days past my birthday - and I was dealing with moving her body from San Angelo to Abilene. Getting in touch with Grandma Eva - my mother's birth mom - coordinating people - comforting friends who were my age but had known my mother well - comforting my grandparents - arguing the place of mom's burial - she never said anything good about New Mexico - I could not allow her to be buried there. Agreeing to a casket - ... it was hell for a seventeen year old.
My husband, Robert, was watching over me - mentioning, "you need to rest... you need to sleep..." How could I sleep? How could I rest? My mother was dead - I needed to take care of people - I needed to take care.... of...
Her. I have blogged ad nauseam about the relationship with my mom. Her death changed me - her life changed me. We switched rolls often - and I will venture to say I knew her better than most - and likely more than I should have.
I miss her. Still. 22 years later. I miss her laugh - I can't tell you how many times she and I would be so tickled by something that we were rolling with tears streaming down our faces. I miss her writing. She saw the world so differently - in a good way. I wish she could see all of her
grandchildren - she only met Meredith - because she would be as proud of Jimi and John as I am - they have beautiful children.
She would have, likely, tried to talk me out of moving to Montana. Change wasn't her strong point - and change with chance was downright intimidating. Secretly, though, she would have been really proud of how I make a decision and just go with it. I did not become the woman dictated by her past - but I am strengthened by every single bump, hill, and mountain.
She was a daughter, a mother, a sister, a wife, an aunt, a friend, a writer, a kind soul, a haunted past, a singer, a cousin, a comedian, a daughter - and so much more than each of these titles will tell you. She was married, divorced - married - and God love her - she was, most days, just trying to survive.
I write that - "God love her" - it's a phrase I use often. But - here - it carries a different meaning.
She believed in the grace of God. She was a sinner who believed in the mercy and love of her Savior. With the very few consistencies that she instilled - she did make her love of the Lord very clear and the importance of our choice in spiritual path - hoping that we would find our way to Him.
22 years. That's more than half my life.
Nicki Dianne Hale Hite Simpson (Mary Gibson) - we honor you today. We love you.
Love,
Jimi, Joe, Simone & John
(and every single life you touched)
"Your name is Simone Frigo."
"Yes."
"Is your mother Nicki Hite?"
"Yes - is she okay..."
"Ma'am, I hate to tell you... but..."
The rest was a roller coaster of letting everyone else know - calling - finding - comforting...
Her parents, my Nana and Papaw, were on vacation in Ruidoso at their cabin. I had to call the church in Lovington, New Mexico so my Great Uncle Joe could find them.
Jimi - my oldest brother - literally challenged me and then ran out the door - trying to outrun the truth that our mother was dead.
Joe - my second to oldest brother - laid his head upon my dining room table and wept.
John found out from our aunt and uncle at the military school he was currently attending.
... I was just 17. Just. It was 6 days past my birthday - and I was dealing with moving her body from San Angelo to Abilene. Getting in touch with Grandma Eva - my mother's birth mom - coordinating people - comforting friends who were my age but had known my mother well - comforting my grandparents - arguing the place of mom's burial - she never said anything good about New Mexico - I could not allow her to be buried there. Agreeing to a casket - ... it was hell for a seventeen year old.
My husband, Robert, was watching over me - mentioning, "you need to rest... you need to sleep..." How could I sleep? How could I rest? My mother was dead - I needed to take care of people - I needed to take care.... of...
Her. I have blogged ad nauseam about the relationship with my mom. Her death changed me - her life changed me. We switched rolls often - and I will venture to say I knew her better than most - and likely more than I should have.
I miss her. Still. 22 years later. I miss her laugh - I can't tell you how many times she and I would be so tickled by something that we were rolling with tears streaming down our faces. I miss her writing. She saw the world so differently - in a good way. I wish she could see all of her
grandchildren - she only met Meredith - because she would be as proud of Jimi and John as I am - they have beautiful children.
She would have, likely, tried to talk me out of moving to Montana. Change wasn't her strong point - and change with chance was downright intimidating. Secretly, though, she would have been really proud of how I make a decision and just go with it. I did not become the woman dictated by her past - but I am strengthened by every single bump, hill, and mountain.
She was a daughter, a mother, a sister, a wife, an aunt, a friend, a writer, a kind soul, a haunted past, a singer, a cousin, a comedian, a daughter - and so much more than each of these titles will tell you. She was married, divorced - married - and God love her - she was, most days, just trying to survive.
I write that - "God love her" - it's a phrase I use often. But - here - it carries a different meaning.
She believed in the grace of God. She was a sinner who believed in the mercy and love of her Savior. With the very few consistencies that she instilled - she did make her love of the Lord very clear and the importance of our choice in spiritual path - hoping that we would find our way to Him.
22 years. That's more than half my life.
Nicki Dianne Hale Hite Simpson (Mary Gibson) - we honor you today. We love you.
Love,
Jimi, Joe, Simone & John
(and every single life you touched)
