Aunt Hoochie

Sue Daniels was one of a kind.  Tall, blonde, beautiful, smart, fun and funny (also an Aggie but don’t hold that against her).  She was basically a party in human form.  But, beyond the balloons and confetti, she was a deep feeling, emotionally intelligent person who lived her life with great intention and generosity.  She lived and loved fiercely.

She was a Bridge Girl and best friend to my Mom and the other Bridge Girls. They’ve played cards for over fifty years, but, most importantly, they’ve lived in the moment, made memories, laughed like crazy and held space and hands when needed.  Like I’ve said before, they’re the real life Steel Magnolias, and Sue was their “Weeser.” This always made her laugh.  Always.  As sweet as she was, she’d go after a bear with a switch (and look good doing it).

She was a daughter, sister, wife, aunt, BOY MOM (boy did she love her son, Jeremy), grandmother, great grandmother and friend.  To my sister and I, she was like an aunt.  She’d known us our whole lives over and, miraculously, still managed to loved us.  We weren’t related by blood, but in spirit we were family.  She knew it.  We knew it.  We all felt it.  

I was seven years old and in the first grade when my dad died.  My sister, Susan, was twelve and in the sixth grade.  Losing a loved one at any age is heartbreaking.  At seven, it was confusing.  I couldn’t grasp the idea of death.  Bless my heart, I held on to the hope that my wonderful dad would return.  When the reality hit in the second grade, the real struggle for me began.  But, who knew, I’d gotten pretty good at masking it with a smile.  At twelve, it was devastating.  My sister, Susan, understood exactly what was going on and that dad was not coming home.  And, she juggled that with all the junk junior high life threw at her from finicky friends to bullying, shifting hormones and a changing body.  Enter Sue.  She was the junior high librarian at my sister’s school.  She (and Mrs. Petillo) zoned in on my sister’s pain and walked alongside her to help carry the burden of grief.  This bonded them in a very special way.  It wasn’t in Sue’s job description to help a struggling child.  It didn’t need to be.  She saw a need in a young girl and did her best to help meet it.  My sister will forever be thankful for the role Sue played in her life at such a pivotal time.  

As the years rolled by, we all had moments in the valley and moments on the mountaintop.  Whatever the view was, it was shared among us.  My sister was Sue’s favorite.  She made it very clear to me many times that she understood Susan in a way she did not understand me, and that she saw herself in my sister.  That never hurt my feelings because I knew her love for us was equal.  She taught me that you can be different and maybe not even be understood but be loved deeply.  And, I always felt that love- sweet, sincere and unconditional.  

While on a trip to Eureka Springs, Arkansas, I announced to the Bridge Girls, while having a catfish dinner at Anglers, that I was expecting.  At forty years old and in my first trimester, I’ll never forget the shock and sheer joy that fell upon them.  And, Sue, River’s future “Aunt Hoochie” whose eyes filled with tears.  She was absolutely overjoyed for me and my Mom who would finally become a grandmother and River’s “Honey.”  For nine months, Sue checked in on me, gifted me and hung on every word about every doctors appointment until River was born.  At the time, my other Dad, Jimmy Tonn was on hospice at a skilled nursing facility.  As a note, he probably edged my sister out as Sue’s favorite.  Sorry, Sis.  She loved him and he loved her dearly.  He’d shown up for Sue during a difficult time in her life, and here she was showing up for him.  So, as soon as my Mom sent the Bridge Girls pictures of little baby River, Sue printed three of the images, made a little collage, framed it, took it to Jimmy and put it on the table beside his bed.  It was his first time seeing his grandson, River.  Sue made that happen, and it came at the great expense of her time & energy.  And, when the time came for us to come out and see Jimmy with River for the first time, guess who was there with her camera, ready to capture images of Jimmy and his new grandson?  It was Sue doing what she did best- showing up for those she loved.

As I type, my eyes fill with tears. It’s impossible for me to think of being in this world without her beauty and humor and thoughtfulness and generosity.  She’s been a staple in my life for almost fifty years.  And, yet, I cannot be sad because I know where she is and who she’s with.  She didn’t leave those she loved high and dry.  She left us with memories that will never fade.  She left us with lessons that will serve us, our children and their children.  She left us inspired by the way she lived and loved-fiercely.

Sue was also the unofficial Chief Marketing Officer of JL PARISH.  She was a huge supporter of my creativity and choice to put it out into the world as a female entrepreneur.  Above all, she loved The Sparrow Project.  She wore her large silver sparrow necklace with pride.  One day, she phoned me and said, “Jill, I need your help!  I lost my “eye of God.”  Taken back, I said, “Sue, what do you mean?”  She said, “You know the little pearl that hangs over my sparrow charm… the eye of God that watches over it.”  I said, “Oh, yes.  Don’t worry, I’ll send you a new one.”  The little freshwater pearl that floats beside the sparrow charm to add a little femininity and movement wasn’t aesthetic to Sue.  It was the “Eye of God,” and, by golly, her sparrow couldn’t fly without it.  

A champion for me in my personal life and in my work life, too.  How blessed could one girl be.  I pray that I can rise to meet every belief she had in me.  I believe in myself more because she believed in me, too.  

To close, grief is life a storm.  When you’re in it, everything is whirling around wildly and violently.  After time passes, you’re left to deal with the aftermath.  It could be sweet memories or deep regrets.  But, mostly, it’s how to navigate the days ahead whether it's overcast or full sun. We look within and we look up to a good God who gave us something so good that’s worth grieving when it’s gone.

Stay Divine, 

JL PARISH