The vax finally killed my friend of 51 years though it took three years to do it. Her sister and brother have just honored me by asking me to contribute to her eulogy; I can’t be there myself.
If only she could’ve been kept alive in the world even just a little bit longer. I haven’t got the magic to do that. Only words.
More than anything I remember how much we laughed together. There was never a rough patch—or even a brutal patch—that we couldn’t laugh about at least a part of too. There aren’t the words to describe properly what she had; it’s not cheerfulness—it’s that through everything Sue never stopped being Sue.
We’d been planning at the beginning of 2016 that I would visit Sutton Coldfield again and then I fractured my foot and called Sue to tell her and the first thing she said before I’d said more than hi was “Oh—guess what! I’ve broken my foot!” And I said that’s why I was calling, that I’d broken my foot. My right, and her left, and we laughed ourselves silly because between the two of us we made one full walking person so it was going to be alright, dinosaur boots on the outside stomping along together.
When we had our first phone call after the terrible terrible months of 2021, I was so relieved, so grateful that despite a little raggedness in her voice, there she was, still Sue. And our last phone call a few months ago, or maybe it was in the summer—there she was, still Sue.
I remember when Colin was still just a baby and I was visiting her in the flat on Welshmans Hill and she said “I just love the way he smells” and though I’d never doubt Sue on anything I was a little doubtful about the fragrance of babies, but I finally understood when I had my own boy. I’m so grateful he got to meet her twice, and the second time as a grownup who will always remember her as I do. I wouldn’t have him if I hadn’t met Sue.
My beautiful girl, I wish you hadn’t been made to leave us. We’re all missing a piece now that we really can’t do without. The world is diminished by you going out of it. But there you are in Paradise, still Sue.
Oh, my sincerest condolences for losing your dear friend. I dread the day I start losing my nearest and dearest soul sisters. Your memories speaks to your bond, the silver lining being you both understood the serendipity. I’m sad for you.
Your eulogy, is right there above.