It has been a year. I miss her. I think about her a lot.
It seems so unfair that life goes on when she is not here. I have thought of her often over the past year. I think of her every time I drive past the left turn I used to take to her house. I think of her when I see a full moon. I think of her every time one of my kids asks me a science question that I don’t know the answer to but that she would have. I think of her at random times when my mind wanders.
I miss laughing with her. I miss going to her house with Big Gulps for each of us. I miss the way she used her hands to demonstrate whatever scientific principle she was explaining. I miss how encouraging she was of her friends. I miss how much she believed in everyone. I miss how she held friends together. I miss her smile.
There have been many things I wanted to share with her in the past year. I wanted to tell her about my Asperger’s diagnosis. I think she would have been amazing about it. I wanted to tell her how well Jack was doing. She was one of his biggest cheerleaders. I wanted to put her name on a list of references for an application I filled out. I wanted to ask her advice about so many things. I wanted to chat about books and movies and blogs and the tremendous good and energy that she put into the world.
I missed her so terribly after I ran my 8k in September. When I posted on Facebook that I had finished the race, something that was a challenge for me, a mutual friend commented, “As Susan would have said, ‘Of course you did.’” Exactly. Exactly. I miss her.
One of the last times Susan and I sat and chatted, a rotating prism that her husband had bought her was twirling in the sunlight, covering her in rainbows. That is one of the way I like to remember her: shining like a rainbow; strong and nuanced like the cratered, slate-colored moon; and gorgeous as her amazing smile.
No post about Susan can ever do her justice or express the enormity of her loss.
I always love you, Susan.
Please join bloggers throughout the web in honoring Susan Niebur’s life and contributions with a post, and please add your link below.
Oh, this is such a gorgeous tribute to her and you and your friendship. I want to give you such a hug and now I’m crying at work.
So, so beautiful. Virtual hugs today; IRL hugs in a few days.
This is a beautiful tribute to your friendship. Thinking of you today.
I have been thinking about Susan this week. She was and is an inspiration.
Hugs to you.
I can’t add a link, but I did add a chapter to my Egret V1 book dedicated to her. When I had Egret Dance with the rabbit on the full moon it was written with her in mind. I also loved the idea of the Rabbit always looking down on Egret.
Thinking of you, Jean, and your beautiful friend.
Love you. Susan also knit us all together. I’m so grateful for that.
She really, really did.
I never met Susan, but I was always so moved by her words and grace. I am sorry for your loss, Jean. Love and hugs to you.
I would claim that it’s a bit dusty in here, but I’m not ashamed to cry over this. Huge hugs & lots of love to you.
Your and Susan’s friendship is magical, special, and I believe it transcends time and dimensions. Watching you two laugh together was beautiful. Thank you for welcoming me into your circle.
Thinking about you and her with love.
She was on my mind all day today. And so very often before today. When I see pink shoes, or sit in the sun, or something sciencey comes on my screen.
I miss her.
Jean! I love this. I can hear your voice, and I see Susan smiling. Those Big Gulps. You two!! And that prism in her bedroom. I remember– and smile. . . but part of me also wants to sob. Thank you for this.
On the whiteboard in my office, where I do science, one of the best things Susan ever said to me is written: “We need more Legos to solve this problem.” It will stay there forever. She is sorely missed and the world is a darker place without her.