I’m sure most of you reading this did not know Sue, but I’m sure you’d agree there’s a LOT of inspiration to be gleaned from this story about my dear friend. And while I am deeply saddened by her passing, it is also a joy to share these things about her with you. The fact is, I’d wanted to participate in delivering the eulogy at her service last Friday, but I didn’t pull my shit together in time. So I am grateful to have the chance to share this with you today.
I first met Sue back in the mid-90s when I was working at a ski resort as a staff supervisor. She was a part-time front desk person for the snow sports school. Her job consisted of answering phones, making reservations for lessons, and speaking with (and sometimes handling) resort guests. On one of our first days working together, I made some offhand, crude remark about a resort guest and she responded by saying, “Chris, that was truly funny—I think I rather like you—truly.” I thought the emphasis on the word truly was odd, but in time, it turned out to be just one of many characteristics that made her Sue. I smiled and said, “I think we’re gonna get along just fine!” And so began a great friendship that would span nearly 20 years.
As our relationship grew, I came to discover (and enjoy!) so many of Sue’s signature quirks. She never laughed right out loud–even when she thought something was funny. She’d chuckle, and then giggle, and then fold her body in half and slap her knees, stand up, and pantomime wiping a tear from her eye. She didn’t like to be touched—ever; in fact, she would jump if you so much as patted her on the shoulder for a job well done. She had an irrational fear of mayonnaise and egg salad. She loved Neal Diamond, and enjoyed telling and hearing dirty jokes. She hated being the center of attention, and on her birthdays when we sang happy birthday, she’d squirm and turn red and terminate our revelry by saying, “Ok, that’s quite enough. I appreciate it—truly.”
She also was known as a person who never said an unkind word about anyone behind their back. On a few occasions, however, I did have the opportunity to witness her addressing folks who rubbed her the wrong way. She’d say, “I don’t think I like you very much. You are just…rude! Truly!” And that would be the end of it.
Sue loved to watch people dance, but she hated to dance herself. However, if you asked her enough times, she’d eventually give in—get up from her chair and do a pointed-finger shimmy with a broad smile and some shoulder shaking for about three seconds and then abruptly end with her patented chortle, sitting back down in her chair.
While sharing these attributes with you is all in good fun and serves to give you a picture of Sue, it’s important to note that her true passion in life was teaching school-aged children—especially under-privileged ones. She reveled in unorthodox approaches to helping them with the basics of reading and writing, such as her absurdly-hysterical attempts at “rapping” assorted children’s classics which always resulted in a classroom filled with uproarious laughter. She loved reading to them, and one time, she invited my brother, Cheston, as a “guest star reader.” Beneath all the laughs and creativity, however, she felt a soft sadness for these children, and took it upon herself to give them an extra helping of love and attention, knowing that, for the most part, they weren’t getting it at home. (She once told me in confidence she wished she could adopt them all.)
Over the years, Sue became a great friend, taking a seat at the table of my small circle of comrades, and these same friends, all of us, thick as thieves, huddled together in a church last week on a cold Friday morning, wondering why Sue wasn’t sitting among us—grappling with the reality that she was really gone.
I trust I’ve successfully conveyed Sue’s quirky, warm, creative, laid back, fun personality, as well as her loyalty and love for children. Now here is the ass-kicking lesson Sue gently taught me on the day of her funeral:
Whether you knew her as Susan, Sue, Sue-Sue, Supers, or Ms. Pasternak, everyone’s stories were hilarious and touching. ALL of them, including the letters sent by her former students, emphasized Sue’s uniqueness, her quirkiness, her generosity, and her warmth. In the midst of hearing these stories, and through the tears and laughter, I found myself with a huge grin on my face—realizing the qualities I’d forever associated with Sue were identical to those held in the minds of everyone in the congregation. To me, this meant that Sue never held back her true self from anyone. She was comfortable with who she was, what she did, and how she lived her life, which, as it turns out, was consistent across the board. It’s no wonder the word “truly” had become a signature response in her day-to-day dealings with the world.
Sue was one of the most honest and authentic people I’ve ever known. Her willingness to speak her mind, to declare her limits, to express her love of irreverence, to find extraordinary ways to perform ordinary tasks, and to expose her irrational fear of mayonnaise…all without apology and with no agenda to be in the spotlight, continues to teach me and encourage me to do the same in my life.
Sue,
I thank God for the privilege of having known you for these brief years. You will forever hold a bright, warm, quirky spot in my memories and in my heart.
In loving memory and lasting friendship,
Chris
