Ashley Simpson: The New Normal

 

In December 2020, John and Cindy Simpson's German Shepherd, Gypsy, gave them an early Christmas gift -- five glorious little puppies. She sadly lost three -- not an unexpected event in a litter. 

Five were still enough, and their busy Niagara-on-the-Lake house was filled that Christmas with joy mixed with the scent of mama's milk and puppy poo.

The pups were a welcome addition during a pandemic where it was difficult, if not impossible, for the Simpsons to gather their large extended family which now included another great-grandchild. John settled with being a surrogate mum to the little pups who snuggled with him in bed after they filled their tummies with mother's milk. 

Like most grandparents, John and Cindy missed the constant chatter of toddlers and rowdy adults who arrived on cue every Sunday for a feast of mashed potatoes, veg, and roast beast. 

But quiet was probably why they needed. 

Both John and Cindy were recovering from emergency surgery. In August, John had to be taken off a ship where he worked as a cook, and he underwent surgery for a perforated colon. A month earlier, Cindy had to be triaged from her own ship to have an emergency appendectomy. (She had exploratory surgery in the fall as well.)

John and Cindy are tough seafarers, but they realized it was time to smell the coffee, show down, and enjoy semi-retirement. The addition of the lovely little pups made their homes a little frenetic, but it was just what they needed. A distraction.

The past five years have been unkind to the Simpsons, my cousins, who lost their beloved daughter Ashley in April, 2016. Her body has never been found. Meanwhile, her killers, presumably, still walk among the decent folk of Salmon Arm and the police have said they have no suspects, publicly at least. Most people, including the Simpsons, have their theories who killed her, but without a body there's no proof, legally-speaking, and proof is the only thing that will put them away. I'm told there is evidence stashed somewhere on an RCMP site near where I live in Ottawa -- a long way from British Columbia, where the crime took place. It's in a truck that Ashley and her boyfriend Derek Favell lifted from Derek's employer in Pink Mountain. But the cops remain mum on their "continuing investigation".

It's also pretty much a certainty that Ashley's disappearance and homicide is connected to some other criminal activity that involves the drug trade which is the unofficial off-the-books creator of major wealth in that area of British Columbia. Ashley ran with some pretty bad dudes back. The existence of a large stash of drugs undoubtedly made it more complicated for her killers to hide her body. Clean up can be a bitch. Ask Walter White. 

None of this matters in the scheme of things. Her parents don't care about drugs, or the image of the cops who are gaining a reputation of being more like the Keystone Cops than Dudley Do Right. 

Ashley's gone and she isn't coming home. They will never hear her crank up the stereo and wail country tunes. They will never watch her jump into a lake polar bear style. 

They still have the rest of their family, and hope to gather around the bonfire in April to remember Ashley, pandemic permitting. They will be joined by Gypsy, who took on Ashley's nickname, and a new pup, Luna who stayed after the other puppies were re-homed.

Since Ashley disappeared, the Simpsons have learned that there's nothing you can count on in life. It's hard to sleep with memories of their beloved daughter interrupting their dreams. But they know the only way to survive the past is to cling to the joys of The New Normal: grandkids, puppies, and the wind whipping through the peach trees that line their country property.