Susan's Books and Gifts

January 19, 2017 Susan’s Newsletter
Anniversary of my mom dying.  Beauty of life despite hurts.  Poem to an unborn child.  
“It’s Ok.”

For the first time in eleven years of writing this note I am sending a “good evening” note.  I wanted to write this morning, but couldn’t type without distraction, and yet the thoughts I’ve carried in my mind this week I wanted to share with you. 

Tonight is the night my mom died 16 years ago.  She did not speak to me of her dying, no admitting defeat because she wanted to live to hold my unborn baby, Camden.  On this night she was taken to the hospital where I arrived.  She gave me three words.  “It’s okay, Susan.”  That was it.  That was the only time we spoke of her body giving in to her cancer.  Diagnosis four weeks.  She lived seven weeks.  “It’s okay, Susan.”  This week those words have replayed over and over in my mind.  First with anger as I thought of them.  No, it’s not okay, Mom.  You aren’t here to see Shaun stacking his little puzzle.  You aren’t here to see him as a pirate, as a fireman, as a little one loving me.  You aren’t here for me to send pictures to.  No, it’s not okay, Mom.   You aren’t here for me to call as I do the dishes.  You’re not here to call as I drive.  You’re not here to see me change as I grow older.  No, its not okay, Mom.  Why did you say that?  No, it’s not okay, Mom.  You aren’t here to see Camden walk out with Dad’s trumpet each morning.  You aren’t here see how he’s almost as tall as you.  You aren’t here to see how kind he is to me.  No, it’s not okay, Mom.  You’re not here to see the store.  You’re not here to take me out to get our haircuts and to lunch in Lincoln.  You’re not here to be the one to make sure I made it home when it was icy Tuesday.  You’re not here to tell me how you love me.  Mom, why did you say such trite words to me as your last words?  “It’s okay, Susan.”

The week progressed as this slight rebellion in me grew.  “It’s okay, Susan.”  Why do we always say it’s okay?  Yesterday morning as I drove my thoughts took a completely different turn.  “It’s okay, Susan, I’m holding your little baby you miscarried.”  It’s okay, Susan, I can hear again with both of my ears.  I can hear the music.”  “It’s okay, Susan, I’m finally talking to your grandmother who died when I first went to college and who I never knew when I became a wife and mother and woman.”  “It’s okay, Susan, I’m with my dad who didn’t get to meet you, either.”  “It’s okay, Susan.  I do see you.  I see you turning into me.  I see you.  I am right now in the presence of angels.  Of your morning angel.  I am standing in the presence of your God.  He is looking into my eyes.  His eyes are pure joy.  Oh, Susan, it is okay.  I am in the midst of trees as I so missed from Louisiana.  I am in the midst of beautiful music.  I am with your dad.  I am with our friends.  I am with your great-great-great grandmother who looks so much like you.  Oh, Susan, it is okay.  See the beauty of your life.  See the beauty constantly.  Listen to the birds.  I hear them with you.  Notice the spring buds that will come soon, I see them with you.  Listen to music, I hear the notes with you.  Life is so beautiful and so short, Susan.  It is okay.  Look constantly to the heavens, the peace and the joy that no one can explain and no one can take from you will constantly be given to you.   That’s why I said, “It’s okay, Susan.”  Because it is okay.  You are okay.  Life is beautiful, dear girl.

A Mother’s Song by Hester Suthers

My little unborn child, I carry you
Without your yes or no to life and light.
Would you consent, I wonder, to be born,
If you could choose and know each grief, each plight
We all endure who walk the mortal road?
Would you consent to share the human load?

I think you would; you are so close, so close
These many months to one rejoicing heart
You cannot help but feel how strong, how sweet
A joy can be, and long to claim your part
In such a heritage which life bestows
To more than compensate for all the woes.

I know you would; for I can promise you
The wonder of the stars, the seas, the hills,
The miracle of love and comradeship,
The breathless sum of loveliness which fills
Our world.  O small, new soul that looks toward birth,
I bring you to a good, a glorious earth.

Thank you for letting me enter your Thursday evening.   “It’s okay.”  Not trite words.  Beautiful words.  The wonder of the stars, the seas, the hills, The miracle of love and comradeship, The breathless sum of loveliness which fills our world.  Eyes.  Birds.  Flowers.  Snow.  Ice.  The heavens.  Angels.   Silence as I type.  All beautiful moments of life.  “It’s okay, Susan.”  Good night.  May you all feel the hand of your angel holding yours as you sleep tonight.  Susan

Latin for this week:
vita pulchra est – life is beautiful
In imo animo stat pulchritudo– Beauty lies in the depths of one’s soul.
mors est pulchra – death is beautiful; in death there is beauty
a caelo usque ad centrum – from heaven all the way to the center of the earth
Caelitus mihi vires– My strength is from heaven
coelorum gaudia – the joys of heaven.
Tot amici mihi sunt quot inimici sunt– My joy was as great as my sorrow.
ubi tristitia, laetitiam.Where there is sadness, joy.  St. Francis of Assisi