Susan and I were living in the same suburban Atlanta subdivision in 1988. I, along with other mutual friends, would often attend neighborhood parties with Susan and her husband. Niceties danced around the room to the beat of the music as chatter filled the air. Susan and I were merely social friends until the music stopped for both of us.
By 1991, her husband had passed away, leaving her with two teenage boys to raise. I, too, was a single mother after a long relationship.
The good Lord blessed two weary souls when He found a way to bring us together. I can’t explain how we became close friends, but we grew to be each other’s tear-stoppers, soul-bearers, and comrades in a war to regain our emotional footing.
Susan was Michigan-born and bred, brilliant, elegant, and tactfully direct. This southern gal is none of the above, and when folks noticed our friendship becoming stronger, they would often produce a furrowed brow in wonderment.
One April evening, we were on our way to our favorite restaurant when Susan complained about a recurring pain in her side. I encouraged her to see her doctor immediately.
By the following week, she was diagnosed with incurable liver cancer. She died just a few months later, in July. The last words I said to her as I left her house the night before she passed away were, “By the way, Susan, I love you!”
My unlikely soul sister was gone. However, because of her influence, I didn’t fall apart; I instead jumped into action. I knew her extended family was in Michigan, and it would be a day or so before they arrived. I needed to help her college-aged boys navigate the world of funeral preparation.
The boys and I planned the services, and friends prepared the house for guests. When the minister came to discuss the ceremony, he asked what hymns the family would like to hear.
Because Susan loved gardening and found such solace there, “In the Garden” was chosen. There was another song she adored, but none of us could recall the title. We told the departing Reverend we would soon let him know the second hymn.
Throughout the day, while absorbed with sadness and planning, we kept trying to remember the song.
One of Susan’s sons developed swimmer’s ear, and early the next morning, I drove to the nearest pharmacy to buy ear drops before heading to their home.
I was in the pharmacy one minute after the doors opened. Quickly, I picked up the necessary medicine and headed toward the cashier. A woman who had been jogging was checking out. While waiting behind her, I noticed her earphones loosely dangling from around her neck. I could hear the faint sounds of a hymn I recognized. Chills formed over me as the cashier said to her, “I love that song! It’s ‘His Eye is on the Sparrow,’ isn’t it?”
As I walked out into the bright July sun, I smiled because I absolutely knew Susan was alive and well. “His Eye is on the Sparrow” was the song none of us could recall.
By the end of the day, the family had arrived, and the minister had all the necessary information. On my way home, I suddenly realized I did not have a summer dress for the funeral service where I was to give a eulogy!
The malls were about to close, so I quickly drove to the closest one. After trying three department stores, I walked into a dress shop, exhausted.
Susan loved navy blue linen, and hanging on a sale rack was the perfect navy linen dress. Sadly, they did not have my size, so I took two others to the dressing room. All six cubicles were empty and cleaned, but I chose the second one to my left. Once I closed the door, I saw hanging on a single hook the same perfect navy linen dress in my size.
After the family returned home and the boys headed to college, I went to the cemetery and laid a blanket down by Susan’s grave, where I finally wept.
A gust of warm air blew the tree branches above me just as the sound of a multitude of sparrows flew from the mighty oak and scattered into the summer sky.
Folks often question and forever will if there is life after death. I never do.
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Lynn Walker Gendusa is an author and columnist who lives in Georgia. Her latest book is “Southern Comfort: Stories of Family, Friendship, Fiery Trials, and Faith.” She can be reached at www.lynngendusa.com.
