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I sit with hundreds of other mourners in a light-filled, stained-glass sanctuary. Maybe we’re all thinking the same thing — Susan was taken too soon and too suddenly. But as I listen to the service in that old Connecticut church, I realize six remarkable things…

The people in our lives help shape certain eras — I met Susan seven years ago at an ongoing writer’s workshop. She sat to my right, a stylish sixty-something blond who usually had a scarf draped artfully around her neck. She was elegant and poised with a ready smile.

One day we were sitting around on break and I inquired where she lived. “Weston,” she replied. I asked if she knew our good friends, Neil and Lisa, who also lived in town. She looked at me, surprised. “They’re my neighbors!”

What a happy coincidence. Maybe Susan and I were meant to meet, I couldn’t help think. A strange feeling arose, that a new era had begun. I was right.

We’re defined by our passions – Not only did Susan love to write, garden, and summer on Block Island, but she was a gourmet cook. She enjoyed throwing dinner parties, and soon my husband Randy and I were invited with other couples to the house she shared with her great love, Bill.

Susan also loved animals. No dinner party was complete without at least 3 dogs running happily amok and a cat jumping on your lap during salad.

When you went to her house for lunch, you didn’t just get a turkey sandwich with chips (which you get at mine). You’d get velvety shrimp bisque with just-baked rolls and a salad with homemade vinaigrette. Susan sometimes talked about starting a food blog and her fellow writers always encouraged her to do so.

We’re known through the love of others –I happened to be over her house the day of the Sandy Hook tragedy. She and I watched in horror as events unfolded on television. One thing that struck me was how all three of her children called that day. I was touched by how even though they were in their early twenties and more or less, “launched,” they still needed to check in with their mother. Its like they had to reassure themselves that all was still right in their world. To me, it spoke a lot about her as a person.

There is always something to learn about someone – I didn’t realize until I got to know Susan better that she had some great stories to tell about New York City society in the 1980’s. She had worked for the New York Public Library’s Public Affairs department. I’d sit spellbound as she told tales of Betsy Bloomingdale, Pat Buckley and Mick Jagger. I realized then she was both sophisticated and down to earth.

Funerals are strange things. Summarizing a life always feels inadequate, but it’s all we humans can do. It reminds me of ending a play that’s run its course. The main character takes a bow.  The curtain comes down. The lights turn off and the stage is bare. The audience has one last chance to applaud and we all return sadly home. All that’s left are memories. 

People live on. I swear, I sat in that beautiful, sun-filled sanctuary and felt Susan’s presence. I saw her in the white lilies on the altar and the heartfelt (and sometimes anguished) messages of love from her family. I felt it in the songs we sang and the rich music that filled our souls. I saw it in the eye dabbing and sniffles of friends and colleagues who will miss her.

I got to spend this past New Year’s Eve with Susan. Had I’d known this was my last time seeing my friend, I would’ve hugged her tighter and gazed longer as we said our goodbyes. But it’s all so mysterious. We’re taken when our role has ended.

I’ve often said to my husband that if I had an older sister, I would have loved her to be like Susan. And in many ways, I’ll always think of her like that.

Yes, people do shape the eras in our lives and my time with Susan was a happy one. It began sitting around a writer’s workshop table…and ended, too soon, in a beautiful, sun-lit Connecticut church.

New Year’s Eve, 2016. Susan is to my right, white shirt with black collar.

Have you lost a dear friend? Comments are always welcome and if you’d like, feel free to share. Thank you.

Comments(30)

  1. I have not lost a close friend to date, Laurie, and I dread the day I do. I have lost my sister who was also my close friend and a few cousins who were also treasured friends. It is so hard to lose them, especially when in my mind it was too soon. So sorry about your loss and I know that friendships made later in life can be as strong as those rare lifelong relationships. Hugs.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Thanks so much, Molly. I can’t imagine losing a sibling or cousins, so you’ve definitely had your losses too. I’m so sorry.

  2. Your perfect pitch and beautiful story about Susan resonates with me. We spent time as writers and became attached as friends. Susan was a very good writer and her comments about our pieces in progress delivered with intelligence, honesty and grace. Her passing has left a strange space among us -our group that sat around a table and no matter where touched each other in powerful ways.
    We think about her and are grateful she was our dear friend.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Hinda, Thank you for your kind words. I still can’t believe she’s gone. You’re right. Her passing has left a space among us. It will probably always be there.

  3. It’s so lovely that you had her in your life and she could leave some of her legacy with you to carry on – what more could you ask from a friendship?

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      So true, Leanne. I’ll miss Susan terribly, but so thankful she was in my life.

  4. Hi Laurie! Such a nice tribute to a friend. And I completely agree with you that even in the absence of a person–they live on in so many ways. How wonderful that you were able to connect with her for the time you did and is what I always remember when reading these types of posts–we all need to tell those we love how much they mean to us while we can. Thanks for that. ~Kathy

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Kathy, So true. Susan’s death was a shock. She seemed fine on New Year’s Eve, got sick, and passed a few months later. Life is so fleeting sometimes and unpredictable.

  5. I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. I lost a good friend of mine very suddenly several years ago when she was only 48. I think about her frequently, but especially on my birthday. I don’t guess I’ll ever get another year older and not think, “Linda would have loved to have been this age.” Losing a friend puts a lot of things about life into perspective.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Shelley, Wow, Linda was very young when she passed. So sorry for your loss. And you’re right, the death of a beloved friend does put things in perspective.

  6. I’m so sorry for your loss Laurie but your beautiful memories of Susan spoke to me from the page and I feel that I know your wonderful friend. She would be proud of what you have written. I’ve been thinking lately I don’t want a funeral as they are so difficult for those close to us to go through. Maybe I’m being selfish as it is a way for family and friends to share memories of their loved one. People do live on, not in a physical sense but in their memories and stories. Keep sharing Susan and feel warmth and love as you remember. Thank you for a very poignant article.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Sue, Thanks for your kind words. Yes, funerals always seem inadequate somehow. You’re brave in thinking about what you want when the time comes, I can’t go there yet. I think people do live on in some form. Its all very mysterious.

  7. This is SO lovely, Laurie. As we are watching my father in law’s last stages of cancer, I am thinking a lot about endings. “We leave when our role has ended” will resonate with me for a while. Thank you.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 7 years ago

      Paula, I’m so sorry about your father-in-law. Its so hard watching someone die. I’m glad this resonated with you.

  8. This is a beautiful tribute. I am so glad you have these wonderful memories of your dear friend.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Shari, Thanks so much for reading.

  9. The most meaningful funerals I have ever been to weren’t about summing up lives at all, but celebrating them. Singing songs, reviewing art, reading written works, keeping them alive with their works. <3

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Jess, So true. In some places, people give parties instead of funerals. I think that works if someone’s death wasn’t untimely. But I love the idea of celebrating a life and Susan’s had much to admire and inspire. Thank you for reading.

  10. This was very beautifully written. You are absolutely right about people living on. I lost a very dear friend way too soon. Car accident. It was so sudden and so devastating. However, I still feel his presence at times. A perfectly timed song on the radio, or even a random dream. Your play metaphor was perfect as well. Great read!

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Lisa, Thanks so much. Still can’t believe Susan is gone. So sorry about your friend and the car accident. Devastating. But somehow we go on… as does their memories.

  11. Sorry for your loss Laurie. A beautiful post. We can cherish their memories and mourn their loss. I lost my BFF almost 3 years ago. I still cannot take her number out of my phone yet.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Haralee, So poignant about your friend’s number still in your phone. I totally get that. So sorry about your loss.

  12. That was all so beautifully expressed. I’m expecially struck by “We’re taken when our role has ended.” Really made me pause and think. And your words on funerals reflect precisely what I’ve thought many times.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Lisa, Maybe because Susan was a drama major, I couldn’t help think of that metaphor when she died. If all the world’s a stage, we all do play our individual roles, until the time comes to take our bow. Shiver.

  13. What a beautiful tribute to your friend. I have lost two of my best friends over the years. One to a stroke at 41 and the other took her own life at 37. It was horrible and it still is to this day. I hope that you can remember those good times and enjoy them long into the future.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Rena, Wow, two friends, both young. So sorry for your loss and thank you for the kind words. Still can’t believe Susan is gone.

  14. This is a lovely tribute to your late friend. I love how thoughtful it is and it certainly approached death of a friend in a direction new time. I spent some time thinking about it, so thank you.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Carol, I know you deal in grief a lot, so thank you for your kind words. A friend of mine was saying the other day, she still “sees” Susan everywhere. I feel the same every time I see a stylish blond in the distance.

  15. I’ve not lost a dear friend, but I’ve lost both a brother and a sister. Losing my sister was the hardest. She was 15 years older than me and like a second mother. We used to talk almost every day. And that’s what I miss most. Being able to pick up the phone and just chat and laugh.

      • Laurie Stone

      • 6 years ago

      Jennifer, Losing a brother and sister is brutal, especially when you’re very close. So very sorry for these tough losses.

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