(This is a follow up on my post from Monday, which dealt with the passing of my dear friend and mentor, Diane Simons.)
I’m not 100% sure of what year it was. Somewhere between my wedding, and before my wife became pregnant with our daughter. So, that puts it between 2011 and 2013. It was in New York City, Spring or early Summer.
Diane’s youngest daughter was performing a mime piece with another performer at P.S. 122. I’m friends with Diane’s daughter, and she tipped me off that her mother was going to be there. The wife and I had made plans to see this show, and with Diane being there, it was just a wonderful bonus. My wife had heard all about Diane, but she had never met her, so, and I won’t lie, I was excited for them to meet.
When we arrived at the theatre, Diane, of all things, was working the “box-office” for this show. And I knew why, without anyone explaining it to me; Diane wanted to help out, and this is how she could help out. It had at least been three years, if not more, since the last time I saw her, and though she looked a little older, she still looked exactly the same. Gray hair up in a bun on the top of her head, big bifocal glasses, and the loose hippie style flowing clothing she always wore.
Diane saw me and gave a huge smile, followed by a larger hug, ending with her holding my hand and asking me also sorts of questions. Then I introduced my wife to her, and she just about broke out in tears, hugged her, and held on to her hand as she asked her all kinds of questions to get to know my wife. It made me so happy to be ignored by Diane, as she joked and kidded and talked with my wife. We were there to see a show, so we had to leave her in the box-office and take our seats, but she asked me to not leave without saying goodbye.
After the show, and it must have been the last performance of the piece, we got a chance to talk to Diane’s daughter, as tell her good show. Then she disappeared backstage, and Diane, me and my wife talked in the house. I have no idea what we talked about. I know it was light, and friendly, and silly, as we laughed often. All the while, Diane was holding my hand. Then she would pat my hand, but she never let go. Just held on to me, not letting me go.
I thought I would see her again. Either through her daughter, or being that I go home to Texas just about every year, out at the theatre her and her husband ran. But, it wasn’t to be. Diane was staying to help her daughter load out, and I bet the wife and I had plans for dinner or something. I gave her a big hug, told her it was great to see her, and that I would see her again soon.
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