Jamie Simmons 4/4/1968 - 2/25/2018

I've posted a couple of things on Facebook since my youngest brother, Jamie Simmons, passed away on February 25th, 2018.
I've also had quite a few long conversations, many accompanied by uncontrollable sobs and tears, with close friends and family who knew him well.
All of us who loved him are heartbroken. His wife, parents, daughters, brothers, and grandchildren are constantly on my heart and mind.
What I intend to do with this blog is share the Jamie I grew up with, played music with, shared much of my life with, and loved more than anything.
Jamie, Paulie and I had a special bond that we spoke about briefly at his funeral, but there was no way to condense that into an eight minute eulogy. It really doesn't matter who or how many read this, it just matters that I write it. There are many people who had their own personal experiences with Jamie and many of them have shared with me how grateful they were for those experiences. These  stories and memories comfort me so much. This is what I have loved to hear the most during this time of unbelievable loss and grief.

This will be some of my experience. There is no way to tell it all, but I will write as it comes to me. I feel it's what I need to do and maybe it will help me in the grieving process. Maybe it will help some of our friends that are grieving too..... I don't know. I hope so.

I never really connected with the word grief. I think the closest I ever came to feeling this way was when Jamie had his motorcycle wreck on March 15th, 2012. That was six years ago today. (When I started writing this, 3/15/18)
When the surgeon came in and told us Jamie might not make it that night, that was the first time I had ever felt a hint of what I'm feeling now. He did make it that night. We had him for six more years after that.

He did not make it this time.

He had a terrible car accident on February 22, 2018. He was driving home after work in foggy, wet conditions. He lost control on a treacherous curve and went off the road sliding, which caused him to flip multiple times, landing in a creek bed. The violence of the crash was just too much. The Jamie that I knew left this world that night as a result of the brain injury he suffered. His body held on for a few days, but there was nothing the doctors could do. We were able to say goodbye. He was able to donate his organs. Late, on Sunday night, February 25th, he died.

Those first pangs of grief in 2012 are nothing compared to the reality of my brother no longer being here. There is no way to put this feeling into words. It is out of the natural order. It is not like any other loss I have experienced. He meant so much to me and the suddenness of his death is too much.

Another thing that makes this loss so devastating, is that he fought back from that horrible accident in 2012. He was nicknamed "Miracle Man" by the staff at the Vanderbilt Trauma Center because he lived and recovered from that terrible accident. Everyone involved, from the policemen on the scene, to the paramedics, were shocked that he was still alive.

While I know this is not true, it feels like God has played a cruel joke on us.

I keep wondering why.

Why?

I know it’s pointless to try and make sense of this.

I know I have to accept that there will probably never be answers to these questions, but I'm just not there yet. 

Acceptance is slow coming for me.

I think the best thing I've heard through any of this, is: "I don't know why this happened, but I love you."
That, and a hug are so much better than anything else.

I go back and forth.

I am so grateful we got to have him for those 6 extra years. His story of talking to God while he was dying on the operating table in 2012, being ready to go if that was the plan, asking to come back if there was more he could do, and being granted that request, comforts me.
Being there when he walked his oldest daughter down the aisle, watching him play with his new grandchildren, and knowing how proud he was of his youngest daughter and the woman she was becoming, comforts me.

There was more he could do, and did.

There was a good chance he would never play his bass again. Beating all odds, he did.

He volunteered at the Vandy Trauma Center and helped many survivors that were going through what he went through.

He spoke before the Tennessee Legislature in support of the motorcycle helmet law because a helmet saved his life.

He shared his beautiful testimony whenever and wherever he was asked.

The other thing that lifts my spirit so much, is hearing the stories of how Jamie affected so many in a positive way while he was here, and even after he left this Earth.

So many left his funeral wanting to be more like him. I know I did.

There were people there that never met him, but wished they had.

As I am finishing this first post, it is almost a month since the accident. This nightmare rollercoaster started with a phone call. 3 and 1/2 surreal days, back at the same Trauma Center. Removing him from life support. His funeral. His burial. The first weeks were blurred by shock, and maybe numbed a bit too.

Now that the shock is gone, there is nothing to do, but feel it.

I'm not wallowing in it. I know life goes on. It will just go on differently now. Very differently. It will never be the same. It can't be.
Those of you who have lost someone you love dearly, know.
I'm going to write about Jamie because I need to write about Jamie.
The void is too big right now, the loss too great.
I miss him so much.

I never know when a moment will grab me, and I'm reduced to tears in an instant.

Every time I open my quick call list, there is his name. I will never delete it.

I walked into Blackbird Live today to teach. The first thing that hit me was: "The last time I was here, Jamie was here. We were rehearsing. Rocking out. Taking selfies. Making fun of our aches and pains. Laughing.
Hugging.

Jamie's 50th birthday would have been April 4th. We never did much for our birthdays these days, that’s for the wives and kids. But there was always a call or a text and an "I love you bro."

So, welcome to the new SIMMONZ blog. There will never be another SIMMONZ show. Both Paulie and I will keep playing and I'm sure Easlo will keep singing. I hope we get together from time to time and play, record, and remember our beautiful brother. I know Jamie would want that, but SIMMONZ as a band ended on February 25th, 2018.

Please subscribe if you want to remember him with me. This works better for me than posting on Facebook or other social media. It won’t be lost on a newsfeed and will stay chronological and organized here. This may be too much for the casual observer on those sites, so we will dedicate this site to Jamie.

I want to thank everyone for all of the love and support for my family through this difficult time.
It means more than you know.
Thank you for remembering Jamie.
Love,
-Mike