On March 29, my lifelong friend turned 58, and a day later she learned her death was imminent. It had been four too-short months since her lung cancer diagnosis, and four excruciating months of searching for treatments. On April 5, in the early morning hours, Sue took her last breath.
Three days before that, I read parts of this tribute I wrote to her. It was my second-from-last visit to her in the hospital — the last time I saw her awake and talked with her. I feel so blessed to have had the chance to tell her how much she has meant to me — and how much I will miss her. I later contributed the obituary that was posted on the funeral home website — and it had a lot of Sue’s amazing accomplishments. The tribute below is much more personal.
Today, on Easter, a day of joy, I am hoping Sue is finding all she hoped and believed in sitting at the table with the best of Easter company.
My Christmas cactus has never bloomed at this time of the year. It bloomed beautifully a couple of months ago. But inexplicably, this bud formed three weeks ago, when I found out Sue was dying. Every day since her death, I’ve watched this bloom, somehow knowing that it would open, right on Easter. And here it is, opening — literally — before my eyes.
I’m not the kind of person who sees signs in things — but this flower … this is telling me Sue is beside me and all of us who love her today.
I miss you dearly, my friend. Happy Easter.
SueLang
Written April 1, 2019, four days before Sue’s death, and read (in part) to her on April 2.
SueLang. The only person I know whose first and last name go together like … two sides of a coin, like a bow and arrow, like peanut butter and jelly.
Definition of a SueLang: Cherished, lifelong friend.
Sue is one of THE friends. You know, that small, elite group of people who stay with you your entire life and things never change, even if you don’t see each other for months or even a year? That friend who loves you for who you were at 12, and still loves you 45 years later? She’s THAT. Her place in my life was cemented by high school summertime trips to the drive-in (hiding in the trunk), singing silly songs sang to the Brady Bunch tune (“Here’s the story … of the Warren Woods Warriors”), playing pranks at summer basketball camp and sitting in her Warren bedroom and building a “gross kit” for a friend that included dead skin and clipped toenails. And still laughing about all of it 40 years later.
Our friendship was built with such great moorings that it weathered colleges and jobs in different states and countless years when I was a single mom without much time for anything besides work and parenthood.
I, Sue and two other friends, Pat and Renee, would meet up a few times a year and sit for hours catching up. After a few years, Sue’s best friend, Janice, joined our gatherings and four became five. We always had so much to catch up on. But it ALWAYS felt like coming home when we were together.
Some things just don’t change. Friendships like ours don’t change. If we failed to meet up as often, we’d always have next time. Right?
But none of us thought to factor in fate. Sickness. Terminal illness.
Damn it. We were supposed to go on doing this for another 30 years! Little old ladies exchanging stories and reliving the moments seared in our memories.
When we were in high school, the same group of us that got into loads of shenanigans. We played on the basketball team and were all on the track team. We excelled in school academically, but it was after the bell when we made teen memories together. School dances and the pre-dance trip to the party store (Hey, you, can you buy us some beer?). Fartlecks and disobeying the track coach (later to be Renee’s hubby) and taking our “training run” to Tech Plaza to visit the Easter Bunny. Summer basketball camps. Working together on the Jargon, the school paper, where Sue’s writing was a witty and fun as she was. Trading quips in Shakespeare class, and 40 years later using the same Shakespeare quotes in a game called Bards Against Profanity. The last time we sat around a table together this past February – and we laughed at Shakespeare’s bawdy humor all over again.
Back then, on our post-basketball fast-food forays after playing rival Tower, we’d make a point of driving to the McDonald’s we knew our Tower rivals frequented and then scream “Dolly D!!!” out the window at the one incredibly well-endowed point guard who happened to be very talented (and thus more hated). Then we’d all sing “She’s a BRICK … HOUUUUSSSE.”
Sue’s best friend, Janice, was a year ahead of us in school, and didn’t share our sports focus or our adolescent silliness. Truly, she was years beyond us back then. But once we graduated from college and all matured a bit, she melded into our group as well, and the foursome became five when we all gathered every few months. For several years, we went a year between visits – and always vowed to be better. Life gets in the way.
Damn it, why did we let it get in the way?
We should have known better.
Sue … dear funny, brilliant, kind, wonderful Sue.
Sue’s gift has always been a sense of humor that involves a droll, quiet delivery of funny takes on everyday life. She brings her own experiences and observations to life with just the right words, delivered in an impassioned, just slightly-exasperated but soft-spoken way. It is hard not to smile the whole time Sue talks. Because she’s just so damn entertaining.
Through the years, it was always fun to hear about Sue’s off-beat hobbies. For years, she was a “storm chaser,” and would tell us stories of chasing storms and tornadoes across swaths of the Midwest. She also actively pursued Big Foot. The only person I’ve ever known to track Big Foot.
For a couple of years, I was lucky enough to work with Sue in the same company, a startup website for people with disabilities. Sue brilliantly assembled a channel meant to help people with disabilities to drive. I was so blessed to have such time – the only time since high school when we saw each other on a daily basis. But Sue’s calling was a different one – and she left after a few months to do what she was meant to do, becoming a radiological physicist.
Sue told us all early in January that she’d been diagnosed with lung cancer. When we gathered as a group in mid-January, she was optimistic, feeling better, eating well and experiencing hope. We laughed, shared stories, and although the gravity of the situation wasn’t lost on any of us, we were ourselves, and had such fun. We planned to gather frequently, vowing to meet again in weeks.
At the end of January, we met for an afternoon of games and laughter and food. Priceless time. Memories I’ll cherish.
I realize I am not the first person to face losing a good friend.
But to lose Sue feels like losing a limb. She was a part of my youth, a part of my life before I even had any idea what my life would be. Like my fingerprint, she’s uniquely part of me.
Sue’s faith has always been strong. I believe God’s presence is helping her to accept what is happening and her belief in life after death is real and comforting.
Still. I know she wishes she had more time. I wish I had more time WITH her. I will never be able to say all that I want to say, even here, in words on paper, where I am most comfortable. My own heart beats for me as a sign of my lifeblood. But as death approaches for my friend, I only feel my heart in a suffocating squeeze of hurt, sadness and loss.
Oh, how I will miss you, my friend.
We’ll see you in heaven, and I’ll challenge you to a one-on-one. I know I’ll lose … but that’s OK. It’s all in the cards.
