Dear Sue...
When we first met our young sons were already best of friends, and as so often happens with parents of children who are chummy, we became easy, amiable acquaintances. It was a year or so later, me exhausted and in dire need of help at the youth centre, and you in need of another job, that we really found each other, once again, via our kids being friends. I was picking Scott up and you had just been laid off, and we started our real road together that moment.
Sue, you never once pulled your punches, but you also never once failed to open your arms and heart wide when I or one of the youth needed you.
You worked like a demon all day, and still showed up at The YC ready to spend the evenings cooking noodles, playing games or offering your particular brand of advice to whomever needed it.
The things to keep are the memories we made and shared.
The sign you made for my office wall, calling me the marshal. Scrubbing the corrosion off of ancient coins you bought on E-bay, and laughingly cursing me for introducing you to online shopping.
Hawking hot dogs, planning events, wrangling kids, phoning parents, butting heads with me and reminding me of the mistakes I made when I was young if I was too stern, and the exasperated look on your face as you sent kids into my office, telling me to “fix them.”
The look on your face as you brought in more treasures from the thrift store or garage sales to make The YC more homey, the smile on your face as I walked in the door, calling out “hi sweetie, how ya doing?”
Memories flood in like so much flotsam and jetsam, each producing a smile at its rediscovery.
You bringing a tiny puppy into work one day and convincing me she could be our mascot... and she was. We promptly named her Anaphe, after the Greek goddess that protects children, though sometimes when she took her job too seriously and loudly announced newcomers, she was tagged Sarah Jessica Barker.
I remember the evening I came to The YC and saw you had sheared your long dark hair super short just two weeks before we were supposed to shave our heads together, saying you just needed a change and couldn't wait, grinning all the while at the look on my face.
Driving together to the youth conference in Rossland, you answering my cell every time it rang and telling whoever was on the line I could not take the phone as I was driving, stopping for coffee at the shop in Creston, you gripping the panic handle when we crossed the Salmo pass and encountered snow.
Your enthusiasm for my “Neon Rider” ranch dream,” as you teasingly called it, planning the garden and chickens and goats we would raise with our wayward charges. Perhaps one day that dream will still become reality, and I know your spirit with be there.
Your unwavering love for your boys, your fiery temper and equally fiery determination.
A whirling dervish of a woman, a port in storm.
Sue, you were my girl Friday.
And I miss you.
Love,
Stephanie.
