Susan’s Way.

I first met my friend Susan when I was very pregnant. And by very pregnant I mean I had stopped counting the pounds I had gained because I didn’t want to know that I outweighed my husband. I met Susan the day of our mutual friend Erin’s baby shower. Erin was having a movie star pregnancy – meaning she was skinny everywhere except for the adorable baby bump she sported under her still-not-maternity clothes. I had been in maternity clothes since week eight. Immediately
upon entering the baby shower I spotted a woman also pregnant and also of ample proportions, much like myself, and started chatting with her. We went through the all the obvious and boring questions like, “oh how far along are you?” and, “now how do you know Erin?” – banal pleasantries to pass the time. Until there was a lull in the conversation which was broken by the woman blurting out to me matter-of-factly, “I hate being pregnant.” To which I whispered back in awe of her honesty, “me too.” I had found a soul sister. I had met Susan.

Erin, Susan, and I all delivered within three weeks of each other. For me and Erin this was our first child but for Susan this was her second. Unfortunately, for Susan this meant she spent most of the three months of our maternity leave coaching me and Erin through not losing our minds. I was especially lucky as it turned out Susan lived only a mile and a half from me so I could be at her doorstep with my screaming infant son in less than five minutes. Ah, the joys of motherhood!

What began as bonding during the most terrifying and amazing period of my life – the first few months of being a mom – developed into a deep and lasting friendship with a truly amazing woman. Susan is one of the most deeply honest people I know. She never sugar-coats her truths. Being around her was always so liberating because there was none of the surface bullshit that gets in them way of having real friendships. But her honesty was tempered with empathy and understanding that made people just want to be around her. I always felt like Susan knew the real me with all my flaws and idiosyncrasies but she loved me anyway. Fiercely. And I loved her.

When Susan was first diagnosed with lymphoma we were both thirty three years old. She had been losing weight at an alarming rate and had been having some difficulty breathing. We talked about it during a play date and thought maybe hormonal changes or Valley Fever but cancer wasn’t even a teeny tiny thought in our heads. Or maybe just not in my head. Then there was the shadow on the x-ray. We still thought nothing of it. The day Susan was scheduled to go back to get the test results from her doctor Erin and I had asked her to call us afterwards just to let us know how it went. Later that afternoon Erin, who worked with me, stopped by my office and asked if I had heard from Susan. Still thinking nothing of it I said I hadn’t and dialed Susan on speaker phone, curious to find out if she had Valley Fever as I had suspected. Susan answered and I started to give her a hard time for worrying us by not calling us with an update. She cut the ribbing short by telling us in an almost robotic voice that the shadow was cancer and that she would be meeting with an oncologist to determine the next steps.

Erin and I stared numbly at each other trying to have those words make sense.

Susan started chemo on Christmas Eve. And she still managed to make and deliver chocolate covered caramel apples to all her friends and family. That was one of Susan’s super powers. She made Martha Stewart look like a hack. Susan’s manners and sense of decorum were impeccable. She anonymously delivered flowers to her neighbors on May Day. For reals. And none of what Susan did was for show or to prove she was somehow more on top of her game than the next desperate housewife. She just did it because it was the thoughtful thing to do and she sincerely wanted people to feel her love. It almost felt like Susan was from a kinder gentler time but had been dropped smack dab in the middle of this fast-paced, easily-isolated-era to remind us of who we could be.

Susan beat lymphoma. She did it beautifully in her quietly dignified way. And life went on.

Until three years later when she was diagnosed with pre-leukemia brought on by the treatment from her lymphoma. Again it was right around the holidays. And again that girl got her Christmas cards delivered before any of us. Again not because she was trying to win most fabulous cancer patient of the year award but because she wanted her friends to feel their value to her. We were worth the effort is what those cards meant.

And she beat it. With class and poise I can only aspire to.

This year Susan, Erin, and I all turned the big 4-0. To mark this special occasion we decided to train to run the PF Chang’s half marathon. This race had special importance to Susan as she had been training for it each year she had been diagnosed and had never been able to run the course. But this was her year. This is the year she was going to cross the finish line and tell cancer to suck it. Then her energy started to fail her a bit during our training runs. We didn’t panic because sometimes in training you take a step back after taking two steps forward. It’s totally normal. That’s what we told ourselves. Then she started to confess during our 4:30am runs that she was having night sweats again and finally broke down and told me that she was experiencing back pain. One morning I had resolved to tell her she needed to go get checked out by her doctor but she beat me to it and told me she was calling her doctor that day to get her levels checked. We ran only three and a half miles that Thursday morning because Susan still felt off her game.

Susan saw her doctor at three that same day. At nine the next morning she texted me that the results were back, they weren’t good, she would call me after she had time to process, and to pray for her. I started crying and couldn’t physically stop until 2pm.

Three and a half weeks ago the doctors told Susan there was nothing else to be done. She had endured two bone marrow transplants and so much chemotherapy that she had reached her lifetime cap. Who even knew there was such a thing? And so Susan turned inward and hunkered down with her family to spend her last few days on Earth surrounded by the people she adored. She was going to do this her way and though it was unbearable to think I wouldn’t be able to see her one last time I knew I had to honor her wishes. But of course I am a terrible friend and sent her several text messages like: “I don’t know how you are resisting seeing my awesomeness, you sure do have some crazy willpower” And “Let me just come over and spoon you or rub your feet.” Finally she took pity on me and texted me that she missed me and wanted to see me. So I cleared my schedule and drove like a bat out of hell to Mayo Hospital where she was receiving a transfusion that day. She told me she would be tired after 30-45 minutes at which time I promised to go. Two hours later I left the hospital (you really shouldn’t believe a thing I tell you). It actually was a fun two hours hanging with my girl. It wasn’t always easy and we did get teary but mostly we laughed and told stories and she made fun of me. When I left I told Susan I wasn’t going to say goodbye because I was never letting go of her. And I won’t.

When I walked out of her room I became very emotional and struggled to make it to my car before I completely broke down. And of course couldn’t actually find my car and as I wandered through the parking lot, tears sliding down my face, frantically searching for my car I saw my husband. He had come to the parking lot and waited for me next to my car because he knew I’d need a hug. And then I crumpled.

Last night Susan went to Heaven. She went on her own terms. With the grace and love that marked her life. And I can’t help but think that this angel was put in my path to show me how to do the hard things beautifully: motherhood, sickness, death. For that and for so much more that I could fill a book I am grateful. So sad but so grateful.

Thank you, Susan.

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