There are people who live …

and then there are people who leave an imprint on your soul.

Jeralynne Renée Linder — our Jerl — was that kind of person.

 

Born on December 13, 1971 in Kings County, Jerl lived a life rooted in love, laughter, and quiet strength. On Saturday, March 14, 2026 at Brooklyn Hospital after courageously battling lymphoma and other medical complications, she took her final breath — surrounded by love and carried by a spirit that had already given so much to the world.

To know Jerl was to experience her.  She was everyone’s safe space. With Jerl, you could exhale. You didn’t have to have all the answers, or even the right words — she understood you anyway.  She made room for people in a way that felt effortless.  Whether you came to her with a problem, a heavy heart, or just needed a moment of peace, she met you there — with wisdom, warmth, and often, a perfectly-timed joke.

Because Jerl had a way of loving you through laughter.

A quiet lean-in, a nickname that somehow fit you perfectly, a comment that caught you off guard and made you laugh when you didn’t think you could — that was her signature.  If she joked with you, she loved you.  And she loved deeply.

She was baptized on November 1, 1981 at Mount Pisgah Baptist Church, and her faith was something she lived daily.  You didn’t have to ask what she believed —she showed you … in her kindness ... in her patience … in the grace she extended to others, even when it wasn’t easy.

Jerl found purpose in caring for others, especially in her role as a Bus Matron, where the children she looked after were more than just passengers — they were hers.  She protected them, poured into them, and made sure they felt safe and seen every single day. When her health forced her to step away, it wasn’t just a transition — it was a loss of something she truly loved.

She was also an author, bringing imagination and heart to life through her book, The Dog That Couldn’t Bark (2022).  Her journey to writing was not a straight path — it was shaped by life’s turns, responsibilities, and moments of uncertainty.  But in one of those moments, she remembered a simple truth: when life feels like a cliffhanger, write your way through it.  And she did.

Inspired by an ordinary moment — a little girl tugging on the leash of a silent puppy — Jerl created a story that reflected something deeper: the courage to find your voice.  Like that quiet puppy, she understood what it meant to speak, even when the world didn’t always make space for you.

Her life was not without loss.  She carried the passing of her beloved mother, Betty Linder, with strength and grace.  And in her final chapter, she faced illness with a quiet courage that never dimmed who she was.  Still loving. Still giving. Still light.

Jerl was the life of the party in the most effortless way.  And if Soca music came on —well, if you were sitting down, she took that personally.  She didn’t just dance—she reminded you what it felt like to be fully alive.

  As her sister Peggy said so beautifully, she was “the brightest of lights in a dark room”. Short and mighty. Gentle and powerful. A presence that made everything feel just a little bit better.

Above all, Jerl was a mother.  Her son, Shakim Linder, was her heart, her pride, and her greatest reflection.  She was always there — no matter what.  She didn’t just raise a son — she raised a promise.  And through him, her love continues to stand tall.

Jeralynne is survived by her loving husband Craig Swan; her devoted son Shakim Linder; her father Cleveland Linder; stepmother Maureen Linder; brothers: Dion, Greg, Tony and John; sisters: Peggy and Connie; and a host of nieces, nephews, cousins, and loved ones who will carry her memory forward.

Jerl leaves behind more than memories.  She leaves behind a way of loving, a way of showing up, a way of being that changed every life she touched.  And though her voice may be quiet now … her impact will never be.