Legacy?
How is this for a legacy? Susan helped start up two businesses, distinct
in their field, that are unique in America. Then her name becomes associated
with a legal ruling, precedential for the mentally ill. A ruling used all over
the 50 American states. Susan's illness also inspired
her son to study mental illness at Oklahoma
University to try and help his
mom to stand up and cope against PS. Just like the English proverb instructs
. . . Susan is now dead, she deserves praise for fighting the good fight against
the odds. She never lost her honor, her dignity, or her place in her family's
heart or memory.
Susan lies down for a nap Saturday, Dec. 30th, 2K6, and her body betrays her. The heart that never quit giving, beating, working, lifting each of us, over the wall, or the obstacle to safety . . . cupping her hands and lifting . . . has given out and she dies on the 31st and lies alone on New Year's Day.
She doesn’t arrive on Tuesday, Jan. 2, or call G2, Jerry Moore or Reggie. No one’s Alarmed. Why? She’s taken other days off, probably she’s taken this day off too.
She doesn’t arrive on Wednesday, Jan. 3, or call, and G2 starts calling her, all day long.
No answer time and time again, and G2 closes up, does his end-of-the-day duties and heads for Susan’s apartment at 56th and Peoria.
He calls me at 7 p.m., at the store: “Mom won’t answer the door or phone and I don't have a key.”
I aver that I’ll go to my duplex on Darlington, get the key and depart straightway to Susan’s.
Meanwhile,
G2’s friend Rich Gontner arrives and notices an unlocked window at
Suzzano’s
residence. G2 climbs through, calling out in the darkness, “Mom? Mom?
Are you all right?”
G2 turns on the bedroom light--and his heart is broken, for the only mother he’ll ever have is no more. Susan's nap has become a permanent sleep, until she is awakened in the millenium. Where there will be fair play, mercy and justice and her heart will beat again.
I arrive. G2 is outside the apartment door surrounded by officials. Rich had called 911.
I approach, and Gary breaks away toward me and puts his head on my shoulder. He tearfully speaks, “Dad, Mom’s gone.”
I am stunned. I’m set back, in mind and motion. I look at him, look him in his eyes. He can see that I am searching the files of my mind to process what he said.
He repeats, “We lost Mom.”
I close my eyes and think: Will the heterodoxic events of 2006 ever stop? Or has this hugely climatic death concluded it all?
Officals determine that there was no foul play. They talk to Susan’s doctor and he assures them that he’ll sign the death certificate. The police tell me, “You can go into Susan’s room.” I entered timidly, tears in my eyes.
I pat her cheek, as I’ve done a thousand times before, and stare at her. I pray over her, commending her to God, that she surely had laid a treasure up in heaven. You see, she was the best of us . . .
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