happy birthday, suz.
Susan had a gazillion friends. She loved meeting people. Learning things.
She was more than my cousin. She was my best friend.
She had many best friends, and I don’t dare to pretend I was the only who felt that way about her.
These were the words of my sweet husband, who lost both his best friend (Susan) and his aunt (Susan’s mother, Judy) to cancer within a six-month period in 2012–13 (if you haven’t read it yet, stop now and read here). Noble and I were married in June of 2012, and we know that few things made Judy happier than being able to be there to finally see us get married (emphasis on finally; she reminded us of this constantly).
Noble and I loved spending time in North Carolina with Judy and Charlie, cooking meals for them and teaching them how to play pinochle (Charlie always cheated!) but today I want to focus on Susan. Today is Susan’s birthday. She turns 45. Or shall I say, she should be turning 45. Cancer took her from us way too early, despite a valiant fight.
I met Susan in 2007, when Noble and I first started dating. I remember seeing her across the street at Gambier’s Fourth of July parade (one of her favorite topics of discussion — I dare you to get her started about McCheese and The Grimace), knowing who she was, and being quite fearful. I thought she was some sort of witchy all-powerful figure or something (maybe she was — who knows). She was Noble’s Susan — and I knew that her approval would mean everything. I was completely intimidated at the prospect of meeting this strange relative living in his home.
I can’t remember when we finally had our first official meeting, but indeed, Noble’s words rang completely true: Susan loved meeting people. Learning things. She had many best friends, and I don’t dare to pretend I was the only who felt that way about her. Unlike others I’ve met, she had this innate ability to immediately make you feel comfortable, as if you were the only one that mattered, and that you’d known each other for years.
Susan embraced me from day one. I won’t lie and say that she never met a person she didn’t like, but she’d never met a person that she didn’t have interesting observations about. She had thoughts on everything — and she was wicked smart in her reactions to people and situations. When she joined “The Facebook” in 2007, she quickly became famous (among her followers) for her witty insights, keen surveillance of life’s seemingly mundane occurrences, “klew hunts,” and adventures with her beloved niece, Abigail (affectionately referred to as “The Niece”). She could cook like a pro. She went back to school to learn acupuncture later in her life. She’d crammed so much into her 40 years. She explored everything. She was everything.
I joined the lucky few (or perhaps many) who were able to partake in her adventures. We went on late-night rollerblading journeys (who even does that?), we traipsed through Pittsburgh together on multiple occasions, we spent late nights binge-watching SVU and knitting (she LOVED Elliot Stabler), and she frequently texted me (and doubtlessly many others) about her many plans. If I was lucky, I was invited to be a part of them.
Susan was full of wisdom, of life, and of love for all that the world could offer. She was spontaneous in a way that I dream of becoming some day, living life to the fullest in every step she took. Trips to Iceland and Guatemala were the norm in the latter days of her life. But Susan’s life was cut short — unfairly short — by cancer, which she faced with an undeniable courage and strength. I don’t remember her crying or complaining once following her diagnosis; she was stronger than I can ever conceive of being. For her, cancer was just another story to tell, another mountain to climb. In fact, she and her friend Molly had plans to write “Cancer, the Musical,” which I’m still awaiting the debut of. Get on it, Molly!
Susan brought life to life and constantly kept us on our toes. She forced us to simultaneously laugh, cry, and wonder about everyday situations. Her wit was sharp, her adoration of Henry Rollins and Morrissey unfailing, and her friendship and love all-encompassing. Reminders of Susan are constant in our lives today.
This is only the beginning of honoring Susan’s role in my life. I have so much to tell and so much to share — there is much more to come. However, for her birthday, I honor her with a series of postings from the last four months of her life, all saved by the power of social media, which only begin to capture her amazing personality.
Ahem . . .
Deep Musings on Law and Order, SVU:
Finding Klews in Everyday Life:
Important Questions to Consider:
Important Facts to Know:
Susan’s Signature Rants:
(I DARE you to ask her about musicals)
Critical Self-Reflection:
And right before she left us, optimistic about her life ahead:
Celebrating Susan’s life, but also saddened by so many lives cut too short, I ride in Pelotonia. When Noble and I are far into long 60+ mile rides in rural Georgia, pedaling up hills can become really taxing. As cyclists, we speak of our cadence — the rhythm of our legs as we cycle take another round on the pedals. When climbing a steep hill, my cadence slows. It hurts. I want to give up. Instead, I shift the song in my head to Susan, to our time together, and come up with a mantra that sings inside as I am pushed up the hill. I laugh at the words she puts in my head (more on her songs . . . later), but I get up the hill with her help. And I keep pedaling . . . I keep pedaling. . . for Susan . . . for a cure.
Happy Birthday, Suz. We miss you everyday. Thanks for allowing us to be a part of life’s adventures with you.
