In tribute

In a recent e'mail exchange, I wrote to a friend that I was reluctant to write about Susan, or try to guess what she would have thought about certain issues, because "that way lies the danger of creating a caricatured plaster saint, reflecting only my own wishes, rather than the memory of an actual person". His response: "Hold the plaster" -- as in "hold the mustard", "hold the mayo". Don't slop good intentions all over the truth. But I can't just go back to casual blogging without acknowledging the death -- and, more importantly, the life -- of one of the most radiant human beings I have ever known. And so I will try to limit myself to saying about Susie only those things which are as simply and objectively true as any of the things that really matter about a person can be.

She was the most faithful of friends, always forthright yet tactful, always willing to offer sympathy and good advice, but never insistent or offended if others failed to follow it (as I often did.) When a friend needed companionship or quiet support she was always there, even if they literally showed up on the doorstep unannounced and dripping with rain and mud at the most inconvenient time imaginable.

She was a devoted and diligent mother to her two sons whom she loved dearly, a loving wife to her husband, and a credit to the parents who bore and raised her. They have every right to feel fierce pride in her achievements even as they grieve her loss.

She was a brilliantly talented writer and teacher, and a particularly articulate advocate of peace and understanding between cultures. She fought with all the tools at her disposal against the ignorance and unthinking bigotry that turn nations and people against one another.

She knew and understood the unique combination of wildly different cultures that had nourished her, and transcended them all by combining the best of all of them.

She had a wonderfully clever sense of humor, and a way of smiling and laughing that seemed to make colors brighter and sounds sweeter whenever she was around.

She was a doer and a creator of things of beauty and worth, rather than a mere dreamer or schemer.

She could be sharp-tongued when dealing with laziness, dishonesty, or bigotry, but unlike the less wise among us, she also knew to avoid inflicting unnecessary pain or embarassment.

It is not "objective" for me to say so, but having known her makes it easy for me to understand the "cult of domnei" by which certain medieval knights were willing to swear service and loyalty to a lady knowing full well that she was as unattainably far above them as an eagle above the creatures of the ground.

Anyone who had the marvellous good fortune to have known her well would, I think, be not only willing, but eager to change places with her if it would bring her back. She was the best and brightest this world had to offer, and the loss of her and her son leaves a void that cannot be filled. She is sorely missed.

Everything and anything that I can say about her is hopelessly inadequate. In a just world I would not have to write such things at all, and her husband, her surviving son, and her parents would not have to endure what they are enduring now.