Today I was going to write a Thanksgiving note—something with the usual wise guy commentary from Myren my chauffeur. Instead, I will write about the passing of a treasured friend, one of us Authors from Main Street, Pepper Phillips. But it’ll still be a thanksgiving of sorts, because how could I not be grateful that we had her company and enjoyed her Joie de Vivre for the past three and a half years?
I was surprised five days ago when I read my email and it said Pepper, the lively spark plug of our group, was slipping away—fast. I thought, “No, that can’t be—she just got back from the hospital and was gong to be okay—wasn’t she?”
That’s what she wanted us to think. She didn’t say how serious it was. She took care of us until the very end. She had some AoMS business to take care of and she did it. She has a novella in the current Christmas on Main Street boxed set. She’d been sending emails and not complaining about being sick—only mentioning a temporary hospital visit in between talk of writing business.
At least that’s how it seemed to me. Maybe I was in denial. That could be. I’m notorious for putting the most positive possible spin on whatever bad thing is going on.
And now, without a chance to say goodbye, Pepper is gone.
The problem is that she didn’t seem anywhere near ready to go. She was too vital, too active and in the thick of things and making plans to do more. She was our spark plug. She was energetic and proud and never complained. (Now I wish she had—just a little—but that’s selfish of me.) To say that I will miss her and that I’m profoundly saddened by her passing seems too small to cover how I feel.
We all feel that way, all of us on Main Street, her many friends, and most especially her huge and beloved family. My heart goes out to all of us. A light has gone out here on Main Street, but I know Pepper will glow on in our hearts and memories.
Thank you for being you, Pepper.