Finding like-minded souls aka Does my new friend have a potty mouth?

I’ve known him for going on 30 years (oh Biff, that just makes us both seem so old.)  We met as angst-filled college freshman.  I’d known Runner for 3 years at that point and we all ended up at the same school.  A shared dormitory, bad dining hall food, one car among us and being away from home for the first time.  And so it started.  Friendships made and friendships cemented. 

Just the other morning, Biff asked a great question on Facebook – Why is it so much harder to find and make friends now?  Is he right?  Was it easier as kid when someone was a stranger one day and your BFF the next?  Those friendships were honest, straightforward and caring – some have lasted into adulthood.  The responses to his question were interesting – ranging from adults being more complicated to people just being jackasses (uh, that may have been mine.) Others shared the obvious that it just makes you appreciate the good ones.

But his question did make me think about it. As adults, our offices and the gym are the playground where we generally meet people. Maybe we live in a neighborhood that fosters friendships but many of us do not.  Some of us have young kids, where we are thrown together with lots of other parents. Some of whom may not be total a-holes. Some of whom may become friends. If we’re lucky.

I know that friendships change.  When mini-me was very young, my new friends were the parents of her young friends. We bonded over diapers, day care and tantrums.  We joined mommy groups where often the only things we had in common were young children, lack of sleep and messy houses. Then our kids formed opinions (boy, did mini-me form opinions) and began to pick and choose friends. We saw less of those early friends and sometimes it was easy.  A good night’s sleep and the ability to have a complete conversation made you realize you didn’t have much to say to some of those folks or drastically different parenting styles made deeper friendship more difficult.  Kids grow, schools change, people move, you move and you have to start over.

We’ve now put down some roots. I live in a ‘hood with great people and the mom posse - friends for both me and mini-me so the neighborhood connection worked.  But now, I see some of my other friends less. Kids keep growing, schools keep changing, and schedules become more complicated.  Maybe we are changing and the differences are more subtle. My office isn’t really the kind of place that fosters strong friendships and the gym….well, I should go to one and perhaps if I did, both me and my new fit friends would be besties forever. But, bonding over our sweaty bodies strikes me as something a wee bit more than friendship.

But really, how would I go about making a new friend right now? It’s not like I can sit on the driveway with the sidewalk chalk and a cocktail and hope someone will wander by and ask if they can play.  Embarrassingly enough, the mom posse I have done this. More than once.  I’ve tried the PTO but honestly, that is a group of women that need a hobby and possibly a drink or three. While I’m friendly with a number of other neighbors and certainly with some folks at work, none seem to be moving in the direction of a new friend.

For adults, there seems to be a dance of sorts – gotta feel each other out.  Do you have anything in common?  Will they still like you if they know you (fill in the blank?) But, do those friendships just develop or do we have to make a list, go over it twice and then strategically go about it?  I thought about my most recent new friends. I was at the barn (a smelly, hot and dusty home away from home.) I was talking with the instructors and another mom about another even newer parent. We agreed she seems very nice.  We’ve tested the waters with her by talking about our love of a good cocktail and how our precious children can make us need a good cocktail. She seemed to be on board. We’ve yet to determine if she can tolerate our potty mouths (‘cause really – it’s not secret I have one) – because this new mom is a mid-Westerner and we think we may scare her.  Then it dawned on me – my new barn friends did this with me since I’m the newbie.  I had made three new friends – good ones. I never made any team I consciously tried out for but this revelation made me feel like I made the cut. I almost feel like the popular girl now that Derby, Jumper and the Bomb have welcomed me into their little club.  It just happened. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t really try.  I really was just hanging out on the proverbial sidewalk and they asked me to play.  So glad I said yes.

So Biff, I think the answer to your question is to just be you (and oh, the joke I could insert here.) Talk to folks – even if at a glance you’re not sure you will connect. Let’s face it, on the surface, we should never have become friends – we were so different but we just connected. We gave each other a chance.  Because you never really know if that person next to you at the soccer field, in line at the movie or standing next to you at the next kid’s birthday party where you don’t know anyone else – is your new friend. If they ask you to play, just say yes.

Note: though I’ve been blogging for a while and always put a new post on my Facebook page, Biff has yet to realize that I was writing all those posts I was recommending. Or, he was simply not reading my posts. He’s either a shithead or not the sharpest knife in the drawer. But now he knows…and he may read this and he’s a really good writer. He’s a great writer. Bracing myself for feedback and possibly a heavy dose of snark in return.

I believe. Do you?

I’m having a crisis of faith and am in a funk. I don’t know if they are related. Nothing cataclysmic has happened – life is good but very busy.  But lately, I’ve felt really disconnected from my religion and what I believe.

I did join a synagogue this last year that was absolutely not a good fit for my family – not only the degree of observance – but the overall approach. The decision to leave was a huge struggle but opting not to renew (for those outside of the tribe, yes, we have to actually “join” a synagogue – there are dues, commitments, etc. It’s a pay to pray approach) was a positive step – one that I felt was the right thing where my actions matched my words. The experience really made me question much of what I thought I wanted, what I practice and ultimately what I believe.

Despite this spiritual calamity, there are many things I do believe in. 

I do believe in a higher power and that things – good and bad - happen for a reason.  This is hard to stand behind when I hear my friend in angst over the loss of her sweet little boy.   That is not a wound that time heals and makes it hard to believe that a tragedy of that magnitude is part of a larger plan.  What good can come from the loss of a child?

I believe in my daughter. She is funny, brave, smart and beautiful.  As much as I parent her, she teaches me more.  I believe that she was given to me as a reminder of what is possible.

I believe that laughter can often be the best medicine.  I mean a real, gut-busting laugh, the kind where you have to cross your legs so you don’t pee your pants.  More than once, I’ve had my knickers in a twist over something and a good laugh - often prompted by one of my hilarious friends - was just the kick in the ass I needed to put things in perspective. 

I believe that a new pair of shoes can change your day; a new purse can make your week and a pair of jeans that make your ass look great can change your attitude.

I believe I was meant to buy this less than perfect house –because it brought Legs and Lips into my life; it brought mini-me not only friends but a neighborhood pack, including a couple of boys who treat her like a little sister, another one with the soul of old man who watches out for everyone and side kick with the same amount of sass.  The house has become a home.

I believe we have to be the change we want to see in the world.  Watching mini-me be challenged by kids that are less than nice has made me so much more conscious of how I talk to her, her friends and my friends – and a better understanding of what a real friend is – for both of us.

I believe that if I called the person I’ve know the longest right this very minute, she would understand and say, “I know just what you mean” even though we haven’t spoken in months.

I believe that The West Wing was one of the best TV shows ever. I still don’t believe it’s off the air – it’s just been a very long hiatus.

I believe that working in a shitty DC neighborhood (seriously, needles and ammo were all over our parking lot), sending mini-me to the Temple preschool and my mom and stepfather buying that particular house were some of the best things that ever happened to me – those brought me Neiman, Geek and Brenda Starr respectively. Life wouldn’t be the same without them.

I believe that friends come into our lives for a reason - to teach us something, hold our hand or just make sure we’re less lonely along the way.  People go out of our lives for just as many reasons - life got in the way, geography, or some falling out (or let’s face it, sometimes they are just a-holes.)  Regardless, we must value what was brought to the table – even if it tastes crappy, it makes you appreciate the good stuff even more.

I may not know where and when I may pray again. I don’t know where mini-me will be when she learns about our heritage.  I don’t know where I will say Kaddish on the New Year. These are all unsettling things – but I have to believe this is all part of the intended journey.

I believe – no, I know – I’m not on this journey alone. It doesn’t matter whether or not my friends and I share the same faith or that I have a menorah and they have a Nativity.  It doesn’t matter that some believe more than me, others less and still more completely different.

I believe in the religion of friendship. Our prayer book is our conversation, advice, secrets and laughter. Our offering is keeping each others kids, offering a shoulder and watching each others backs. Our cups are full of well, wine, coffee or some other libation that we raise (quite often) with the appreciation that we are so lucky to have one another.

So, despite my crisis of faith and my funk, I don’t travel this path alone.  The road may be bumpy and full of unanswered questions, tough decisions and hard times but the company is fantastic.

Now if I could only find the perfect pair of jeans.

PS:  Feel free to start humming that "I believe, I believe, I believe" song from the end of Mirror, Mirror. It's been stuck in my head the whole time I wrote this. You can thank me later.

And that is why we're friends

Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to the another, “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”

 ~C.S. Lewis

It’s easy to wax poetic about my friends - their generosity, patience, and kindness; their presence through thick and thin and their willingness to put up with my crap. But really, some of the really great things about my friends is the crazy-ass stuff that has just happened along the way, stuff we heard or talked about.  NYC adventures with Neiman was awesome – but we were already good friends though the trip added memories and experiences we still joke about.  But honestly, not all the rip-roaring hilarious stuff is a trip. Much of it isn’t planned. Hell, most of it isn’t even a full-fledged thing. It’s the scratch the surface stuff we find out about our friends that makes us love them even more.

It’s the hilarious time Beach flashed me (and all the customers in that particular NYC Banana Republic) to show me that the skirt she was trying on was really a skort…but neglected to zip the zipper. Or wear underpants.  It’s the time Beach, Patron and I decided to make lobsters but had no crackers to open them – and resorted to pounding them with hammers and chisels. On the ground. Very classy.

It’s the unexpected good times at the end of a long day when it’s dark and getting colder and Perky’s husband (aka Splash) asks if everyone wants to jump in their in-the-process of being filled pool. What followed was eight children shrieking with joy and jumping, splashing and laughing in freezing water in the cool night air. 

It’s the long ago time Southern, Neiman and I were driving around DC very late at night in Southern’s big ole’ Caddy (seriously, that thing was a boat.) Neiman was, uh, relaxing, in the back with some boy and Southern and I were not able to find our way out the paper bag that is Southeast DC.  Periodically, Neiman would pop up from the back and say (with total authority), “I know where we are, turn left.”  We totally listened and proceeded to drive in circles for an hour before we acknowledged that Neiman didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about.  “Turn left” now means you are either lost or totally fucked up (literally or figuratively.) 

But sometimes, it happens when we find ourselves talking about things that well, only good friends talk about.  Magic Pan has a special meaning for me and Neiman – it describes a moment not even remotely magical but always memorable and more than once we’ve simply sent a text or email with the phrase “Magic Pan Moment” and we instantly know we need to call and check in.  It was sitting around the table with Perky, Lips and Legs and we were laughing hysterically about something and I sneezed…and peed my pants.  This led to a hilarious discussion about all the fun things that happy to your body after you have babies, hot flashes and flatulence.  On more than once occasion a phone conversation with Geek is punctuated by peeing or flushing and Neiman and I talk while she takes a bath.  It’s my long-time friend Runner, always polite with never a hair out of place, walking up to me and saying, “Pull my finger.” And, me doing it. We’re not a modest group.

It’s finding out a good friend has a potty mouth, too.  It’s being flattered when a friend calls you “hooker.”  It’s finally seeing Legs get frustrated or annoyed (because seriously, that woman has the patience of a saint) and then say, “I had a glass of wine. I feel better.”  Not because you’ve never seen her drink (uh, I’ve seen that more than once or a dozen times) but because you got it.  Like hearing that a friend yelled at her kids and dropped the f-bomb ‘cause you thought you were the only one that did that. Makes your shortcomings seem like a small imperfection that is shared by others.  Sounds nicer that way, doesn’t it?

 

Don’t get me wrong, the cuddly warm parts of friendship are important.  Being there during tough times and providing that kind of emotional support are immensely valuable. But really, it’s the hilarious, off-color times that make us laugh until we snort (or pee our pants) that keep us together. It’s the human moments – when our imperfections are glaringly obvious and we are friends regardless of it.  ‘Cause really, that’s when we know that no one else may find us as funny. And, that makes for good friends.

Nanny, Nanny, Boo, Boo aka Words Can Hurt, Too

There are times when friendships struggle. Perhaps you and a friend have hit a bump in the road or you’re simply changing - moving in different directions. Maybe there was a disagreement too big to ignore. It’s possible you guys are too much alike. It could be any of these things – especially when you’re just 7 and still trying to figure out what friendship means.

Mini-me is blessed with some great friends. Her oldest friend Kooky lives far away but is rarely far from her thoughts.  Kindred is local and, though we don’t see her often enough, when they are together  they are truly two peas in a pod.  She’s got friends at school, in the ‘hood and at the barn.  They play in groups and one-on-one. There are organized activities and total chaos.  They sleepover, craft, bike and run in a pack.

Hoping grown-ups can set the example for the kids.

But, let’s face it – some kids are mean and I’m being polite here. Some are just asshats.  Yes, I know some are just insecure and some are the unwitting victims of poor parenting, but seriously, kids are way meaner – and at a younger age - than they used to be. I say this with complete confidence because I was bullied all through elementary and middle school.  I know this makes me more sensitive to watching her go through this but I’ll take my oversensitivity to parental apathy any day.

Watching mini-me struggle with the typical kid fights is usually no big deal. I’m a proponent of dust yourself off, say you’re sorry and move on.  I always assume she is partially – if not more – to blame and try to teach her that saying you’re sorry – and meaning it – is an important part of being a friend.  I know that sometimes, kids have to be kids and learn to stand up for themselves - but sometimes, I see in her what I remember feeling. She’s a little bit outside the group – not quite fitting in. It’s mostly unintentional and sometimes self-induced with little understanding as to why.

Last year, she shared that kids made fun of her hair.  This was her first experience with mean kids.  (I remember being teased about my hair and there is nothing I can say to make her believe that her hair is extraordinary and that she will cherish it as an adult.)  When she told my brother about this he was stunned. While I have never doubted his love for his niece, it filled my heart to see him pull her close and tell her what to say.  You see, he has the hair as does one of his sons. His was the compassionate voice of experience.

This is what I picture - and it breaks my heart.

This year,  a few things  have rattled her. Some involve random kids and other times, her friends. It’s likely all a passing phase.  I know I’m lucky that she opens up to me. That she shares the second-grade drama and I listen, empathize and give hugs. That is usually all that is needed and she moves on to the next topic. But sometimes, she keeps talking. Sometimes, one small incident that seems so innocuous really hits a nerve in her elementary psyche.  Honestly, it hits a nerve in my middle-aged psyche, too.

There is certainly a side of me that would love to tell mini-me exactly what to say to one of these gems.  You know, give her a real zinger to fire back. I know that is wrong – and I would never do it but really, what I wouldn’t give – just once - to see my sweet girl shut down one of these little bitches with a well honed phrase – except those little ninnies would then go crying about hurt feelings. If they only knew……

What I do tell her is that some people are just not nice and we may never know why, but  there is never a reason for bad manners. Don’t bully back and always treat people with respect. I have made sure to tell her that she doesn’t have to take it – that no one should have to take it.  I’ve told her that just sitting by and watching someone else get bullied is not okay. She can say stop, she can go get help, she can be the victim’s friend – but never sit idly by and watch one person hurt another either physically or with words. Both wounds run deep.

Most of the bullies mini-me has encountered these days remain distant classmates. Names on a page that won’t ever sleep over, celebrate her birthday or pass notes. Some of the bullies have moved on. Some are fine tuning their approach and disguising the meanness with a smile.  Mini-me is learning to tell the difference between someone who is just nice, pretending to be nice or someone who is her friend. 

I hope that as mini-me grows, she finds her Big Susans – those friends who are there no matter what. No matter if you’re part of the right crowd, the wrong crowd, rich, or poor.  No matter what neighborhood you live in, what sport or games you play – or don’t play – or where you buy your clothes. She doesn’t have to be the most popular, the prettiest or the smartest. I just want her to be appreciated for herself, to have good friends – to be a good friend. 

My Big Susan M aka the Geek always says that our girls are our square pegs.  I’m good with that.  When I talked to some moms at yet another horse show, they all said that their kids were square pegs, too.  Maybe that explains why a group of girls – ranging in age from 5 to 18 – can work together, be together for hours at a time with rarely a cross word. A barn full of square pegs who totally get what it means to not always fit in.  They readily open their arms and hearts and embrace.  She doesn’t have to always fit in completely, she can march to the beat of her own drummer – hell, I hope she dances to the music of her own band.  And, as long as she has good friends that will dance with her, I know she’ll be okay.

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 I want to do a special shout out to fellow square peg and friend, Giddy-up.  She helped me edit this post and talked me off the ledge when I was nervous about posting it.  

Another F&*$ing Post

I have a confession.  I have a potty mouth.  It may be slightly worse than that - I can have a mouth like a sailor. Big Susan would be horrified, my mother would fake being shocked (that woman could stretch the word “shit” out into three syllables) and my father would be proud. Go figure.

I am very professional at work and do not use profanity. At least not openly.  I will admit to muting the phone to stifle my laughter when a colleague muttered, “This is fucking useless,” during a conference call. I called him afterwards to let him know just how much I appreciated it.

They say profanity is the sign of ignorance and I beg to differ. My damn friends and I are simply brilliant. I don’t drop the curse bombs around all of them but those that know me well, well – this post won’t shock them.  My Big Susan, T aka Neiman, rarely if ever cusses. But when she does, it’s usually the f-bomb and I always applaud and completely lose track of whatever point she was making because she had a potty mouth.  My other Big Susan, the Geek, has been known to cuss – but talks so nicely most of the time you scarcely notice it. Now, the other Big Susan, L aka Brenda Starr doesn’t cuss. She’s so good about it that it’s kinda sickening. I commend her but she had great role models. I can’t imagine her parents, aka the Cleavers, ever uttering any word that the Pope would not approve of.  I think I’ve dropped the f-bomb in front of Mrs. Cleaver but she hasn’t held it against me (or is too polite to say so.)

 

I’m reasonably cautious about cursing around mini-me.  My word of choice around her is “crap” and she has used it once or twice. At least she uses it correctly.  This past week, mini-me was lucky enough to be part of a television promo featuring area camps – and the barn where she rides was included. She got to participate (as young girl brushing pony). While I was yakking with Legs, mini-me and Pistol (daughter of Legs) were pretending to be interviewee and interviewer. This is when I hear mini-me say, “ucking, pooping,” and get whiplash saying, “What did you say?”  Mini-me repeatedly refuses to tell me (she says she know she will get in trouble) so I can only assume, she has dropped the f-bomb.  Play date cancelled and a tearful mini-me trails behind me when we walk home from the bus stop.  Fast forward 20 minutes and I learn the first letter that I didn’t hear was a “b” – as in bucking.  Bucking and pooping. She thought I would be mad at her for saying “pooping.”  WTF? She rides horses multiple times a week. My car sometimes smells like horseshit.  Pooping is simply part of our lexicon.  Where did this child come from? I take this as a sign that I have properly instilled “do as I say and not as I do.”  Legs found this whole thing hilarious.  She wouldn’t be laughing so fucking hard if it were Pistol dropping the possible f-bomb.

My friend Lips has two boys who could not be more different. You have Jobs, as in Steve Jobs in the body of a 4^th grader and Steve-O as in well, jackass.  These are two of the funniest and sweetest boys ever but Steve-O loves the words “nuts.” As in, “Ohhh, he hit my nuts,” or “Careful, don’t hit my nuts” and “Gotta be careful, that could hurt my nuts.”  It’s as if his nuts are so large they can’t be missed or avoided. He’s in third grade.  Often, Lips rolls her eyes (‘cause really, she’s been known to drop an f-bomb or three – especially if we have drinks.) Sometimes I shoot him a look.  But, since Legs and I have little girls (Legs is also mom to sweet Rider, a fourth grade boy who can often be the big brother of the group), this was creating possible lessons in anatomy and slang that we weren’t ready to face. So, we’ve tried to clean up our (fine, my act. And Steve-O’s) act and have language rules. No nuts. No crotch. No body parts or potty talk.  I swear you can see these kids literally biting their tongues.

Now my dear friends Belle and Handy rarely – if ever – cuss. And, if they did – they have such sweet southern accents you’d swear they were complimenting you.  Same with my sister-in-law Beach. Honey drips from her mouth when she says “shit.”  My sister’s don’t really cuss – Dad’s Favorite may not know what all the dirty words mean and Mini-Mom tries to hold back – though trust me, girlfriend has it in her. Thank goodness for my brother – we’ll call him Patron. He knows how to drop the f-bomb.  Trust me…..rewind a few years and we’re at my brother’s house, Beach and I are cleaning up and mini-me has been trying to get the tiny baby into its tiny highchair with her new dollhouse. The room is quiet and I hear my recently turned four-year old say, “I hate this fucking baby.”  Thanks Patron. Job well done.

This paragraph didn't appear in original...but it was supposed to.

You know, I choose my friends carefully. It’s like choosing the right cuss word – choose wisely and choose well and keep it to a select few. Too many and someone gets hurt. Not a good fit and tempers may flare. But just the right one – it works every time.

Lessons Learned aka Boob Sweat

I’ve learned a lot during the last week. They say that adversity can bring out the best and worst in people. I’m happy to say that I, for the most part, have only experienced the best.

I learned that my sister-in-law Beach is a great sport with a big heart. She kept us going on Monday when we got the news....and became travel angel with flight scheduling.  Everyone should have a great Beach in their life.

I learned that time and distances do not have to diminish relationships.  I spent a large part of this week on the opposite side of the country and was able to reconnect with family and friends – some of whom I had not seen in years.  Time and distance did not take away what we had. We fell into familiar roles. The laughter and tears were genuine.  Mini-me was able to spend time with people who are so important to me – and who truly did help make me who I am today (blame them or thank them – it’s up to you.)  Watching Tunes chat with mini-me made me smile on the hardest of days….and when he said, “she needs to know me” I was verklempt.  Then I watched mini-me looking for Bergdorf – and asking for her help with one thing or another. This made me laugh.  You see, years ago I ran around looking for their mom – Big Susan’s daughter – to help me with one thing or another. A cycle worth continuing.

I learned that some friends are family and the lack of blood relation just doesn’t matter. I had that conversation with mini-me about the difference between friends and family – and then we talked about those oh-so-special friends that become family.  She was shocked that we weren’t really related to Big Susan and her family because “it feels like they’re my family.”  I simply responded, “they are your family, sweet girl – they are.”

I learned that some cousins can never be left alone together. Mini-me did insta-bond with her cousins, Mothman and BabyMama.  She and Mothman are close in age while BabyMama is a wee bit younger.  Mothman was the straight man (most of the time) to two girls who were often out of control. It was like watching kids on acid.  All three were involved when the word “butt” was Googled. There was much laughter during the visit and many tears when we left.  I’m hoping we reconnect again sooner rather than later.

I learned that mini-me is a good traveler – even when tired. A constant stream of snacks and music helps. Oh, and she can "hold-it" for a long time.

I learned that boob sweat can short out a phone but luckily, it comes back after a cooling down period.  So, despite being almost shamed into buying a new phone by Tunes, I dodged the iPhone bullet. At least for now.  I suppose I should also say that I learned I shouldn't tuck my phone into my bra...but I doubt I'll heed that lesson.

I learned that I-270 certainly could make a commute easier - if the traffic ever moved.  Seriously, 90-minutes to go 30 miles.  And, that I still have my sense of direction back there.

I learned that hard-shell crabs – even out of season and a wee bit small – are delicious. Especially when watching Mothman master the mallet and dig in.

I was reminded that I have amazing friends.  I got messages, texts, posts and comments from friends near and far. Checking in, check up and making sure. So grateful that though I was far from most of them, it felt like they were with me the whole time.

I learned that we are our mother’s daughters.  My sisters and I cleaned, re-filled, set-up, put-out (much less exciting than it sounds) and condensed.  We helped, we supported, we shared and we remembered.  Big Susan’s daughter’s led this orchestra and we played on.  Despite years of eye-rolling that we were becoming our mothers, I think we were all proud to carry the torch this past week. We can only hope that Francine and Big Susan looked on with pride.

Heartbreak

Today my heart is heavy and the world became a little less friendly. Big Susan has passed away.  I cannot adequately describe what Big Susan meant to me. I don’t believe words could do her justice.  She loved me and my siblings like another mother – one that was often more patient than our own and I feel blessed to have such amazing memories.

The beach house with that conference room /dining table that forever needed wiping.  I can see her standing at the counter peeling hard-boiled eggs, opening cans of tuna and laughing with my mother about how all they ever seemed to do is prepare for a meal, eat, clean up after a meal or laundry.  I can hear her telling her Peter or Andy or Jane to look after me when we went far out in the water or out on bike rides up to York Beach Mall for doughnuts.

I remember her laughter and the way her eyes smiled. I remember the small brown spot in the bright blue of her eyes - not so different than the brown spot in my green eyes.  I remember the story of her visiting my mother in the hospital after I was born and the nurses mistaking her for my grandmother because she already had the most extraordinary silver hair.  I still have the small stuffed animal she brought that day. 

I remember spending weekends at her house when my mom went away. She treated me like a young girl despite my childish behavior at being left behind.  She didn’t tell me I would be sorry when I stayed up too late watching “Rosemary’s Baby” with Tommy.  She always listened – I may have been angry with one parent or another and she sometimes gave advice but never had a cross word to say about either of them.

I remember her hosting my mother’s second wedding.  Big Susan stood up for my mother as she and Jack took their vows in front of family, friends and a few kids who may have been less than appreciative on that particular day.

Like all teenage girls – and often many young adult women – I often struggled in my relationship with my mother.  Big Susan showed me a side to my mother that I didn’t know existed – the side of a young girl, a young women, a devoted mother and a good friend.  Just as she had never seen the mother that I knew (the one that yelled and often made me feel bad about myself), I had never seen the open and nonjudgmental woman that Big Susan called friend.  I credit her for helping me, for scolding me when necessary and for encouraging me to work at the relationship with my mother. To talk to her, to listen to her and just appreciate her.  And, I’m not too proud to say she was right every.single.time.

College trips back home were not complete without a visit to Big Susan.  She would have a dinner – whatever kids and grandkids were in town would come.  It would be loud and boisterous.  Everyone would help.  When I moved back after college and my mother lived elsewhere, I knew I had a home with Big Susan.  I was always included in whatever family or holiday function was happening – and that meant more than she will ever know.  When I moved back to California, I spent my last night in Maryland at her house.  She stood back as my big Susan, T, and I did the big ugly cry.  She understood. She had been in T’s shoes years before when my mother moved away.  She held me when everyone left – no false words of comfort but complete understanding.

Susan was a glass-half-full kind of gal.  She found the positive and the light in everyone.  She was a fierce defender of her children and grandchildren – there was no greater ally if Big Susan was on your side.  And, there was no greater friend, if you were blessed to be in that circle. 

So now, as I try and figure travel arrangements – I ache to be close to Big Susan, her children, her grandchildren – I am filled with a loss that is at once overwhelming and familiar. You see, as long as I had Big Susan, I had a little piece of my mother.  I had that person to call when my mini-me did the most extraordinary thing (at least to me.)  I still had someone to call when I bought my first home. Someone to call after a car accident left us bruised, banged up and more than a little scared.  Someone to tell me for the umpteenth time how to make the roast chicken.

I miss my mother every day and now I will miss Big Susan.  I do take comfort in knowing they are together again.  They are sitting together, maybe even wearing those matching blue bathrobes. They are having coffee, sharing the crossword and talking about everyone and everything and what people are wearing.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said:

To laugh often and much;

To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.

This is to have succeeded.

If this is true, Susan was truly one of the most successful people I know.

To Susan’s children and grandchildren, you have my deepest sympathy and love. I hope you know that you are not alone in your grief and that you are each your mother’s – and your grandmother’s greatest success.  Simply saying your names brought her joy.

To Susan, I am a better person because you were my mother’s friend. Because you were mine.

So tonight, when I look up and see the stars sprinkled across the sky and see two very bright stars that seem so close together – I will choose to think they are my mother and the very original Big Susan. Shining bright once again.  I will listen closely – perhaps I’ll hear them laugh.

Susan Shapiro Schlosser

1931-2012