Letters

The village was quiet last Thursday on the morning of a beautiful day, the beginning of many more. People were scattered on benches resting and talking; reading The Press, or rising reluctantly to go about mundane errands. I sat savoring the sleepy peaceful morning when I sensed a luminosity rising and surrounding the First Presbyterian Church, almost as if flowers were bursting into bloom out of a sea of blackness.

Gathered on the steps of the church and flowing down to the street were masses of young people moving quietly as cars pulled up and more and more people joined them. The sun shone with a brilliance over all as it so does after rain. Everyone was dressed in black. People of all ages were arriving. Not a wedding, but a death.

Sadly, I thought: Could this be the service for the softly beautiful young man of 24 whose picture was so arresting in his obituary in The Southampton Press which appeared the night before?

Then I knew it had to be, as the sea of blackness broke into wave after wave of sober, beautiful people, united in great sadness and a great love that seemed palpable. Young and old mourners dressed in black suits and black dresses spilled down Main Street murmuring and affirming yes it was him: Jayden Anthony Wilson-Pepitone they were commemorating, and they shared and love for him. The mayor remembered him as an exuberant hiree at Coopers Beach the year before. His friends said he was wonderful, unforgettable, and made them happy.

His spirit was moving on Main Street. People who didn’t know him and hadn’t read the obit began stopping his friends to ask about him. All stung by the sadness of death and loss of him at 24. Grief descended as well as deep empathy for his mother and his family. He was a Southampton boy, then man, through and through. His family lived here until five years ago, then moved to California. He stayed. His friends were determined not to forget him or his family: building a cordon of love.

For me, only Greek tragedy is deep and wild enough to express loss like this. Ordinary words, thin as cobwebs descend and engulf the dark and empty space of grief, hoping to close the severing of life and to soften the long remain.

Later in the day, close to home fate brought me face to face with Jayden’s mother. I hope I was able to impart to her how her son’s death and his last moment of brilliant light at the corner of Main Street illuminated the hearts of everyone just sitting or going about their business on a quiet, beautiful day.

Frances Genovese

Southampton