More than three words

My Chicago friend Susan died this week. She and her husband Charlie lived next door to us when I was a teenager and they were in their late twenties. We became friends after I, at fifteen, started taking guitar lessons from Charlie. Susan often invited me over when Charlie had a gig with his band, and we’d cook or watch a movie. I needed an emotionally (and logistically) available adult, and Susan, a social worker/therapist, was generously able to be that person. I remember sitting down on her porch when I hadn’t seen her in a few days, and she said, “Okay. Tell me everything.” It was the best invitation. Sometimes I say that to someone I’m close to, and I always think of Susan. She took interest in me as a person long before I was an adult, and this helped me believe my life was interesting. 

She was able to reflect my personality positively back to me, and she did it all the time. I have tried to do this too, for anyone I interact with (especially anyone younger than I am), and I learned it from Susan. She said, “You’ve always been so good at getting your needs met.” She saw how I had befriended families on our block since my mother had died, and had participated in a high-school musical that wasn’t even at my high school. She said, “You think you’re shy, but I don’t think you are. I see you as quite outgoing.” These comments told me that my urge to talk to safe people was healthy and didn’t make me a pest; and her saying I was good at it, and outgoing, cued me to keep being myself and to let people see who I was.

Susan was treated for cancer over the past several years. We exchanged a few cards and texts over the past year, and she surprised me with a phone call last Christmas morning. In each exchange we shared favorite memories. I recalled how she had gone out spontaneously to get me an ice cream cake for my sixteenth birthday when I was doing nothing to observe it, and how I love the memories of cooking with her for their parties. She told me she always saw me as “somehow both vivacious and peaceful to be with” as a young person. Until our last conversation she was showing me myself as a lovable person. I’m so glad I had the chance reflect her good actions back to her, by describing the ways she had helped me. I miss her.

Knowing we can lose loved ones any time, it’s often said “tell them you love them.” But I want more than three little words. I want to share specific positive reflections of each other. Tell the person something she surely doesn’t know: your favorite memories together and why they are so good.