I met Susann for the first time on August 17th, 2006. We were in Austin, and it was our first date; we met at a coffee shop downtown. She was actually coming from a job interview, so she was dressed up, and she looked good, but the first thing I REALLY noticed about her, and the first thing I see when I think about her in my mind, is the eyes. First of all they're very blue; in the right light, they're the blue of a cloudless summer sky. It's very striking and very attractive. Spend any real time with her, though, and you'll see other things.

You could see in her eyes, there's an intelligence that, when seen in full force, skips right over "impressive" and lands squarely in "humbling". She loved science, and graphs, and news about space, just had a curiosity that knew no bounds. She would ask me, "Hey, did you read this thing about" and I hadn't, but I didn't need to, she would tell me about it.

Also in her eyes, there was what I could only call a mischievous sparkle. Offer her... Read more an adventure of some kind, going somewhere new, cooking something different, even just getting her dream dining table, she would get this almost manic enthusiasm that was totally infectious. She'll get this wide-eyed look, and do this chuckle, "hee hee HEE!".

It feels like everyone who's reached out to me since Susann's passing mentiones her laugh in particular. A good friend who couldn't make it today tweeted out last night: "thinking tonight of a friend's laugh which could light the darkest night, a hug for your very soul."

About the dining table, it wasn't just because it was heavy and shiny, it was because there was finally enough room to get all the people she wanted around it at the same time.

She got excited about books. She had favorite authors and favorite bookstores. She loved books, and was downright evangelical about the books that she loved. I'll give you a perfect example: because she was bed-bound, we needed an ambulance to take her to radiation therapy from home, and no matter the medication we got her on, it was painful for her the entire way: driving to the place, getting her on the MRI machine, driving her home, it was excruciating. But apparently, instead of just laying there and being in pain, she was talking to the guy in back with her about books; I know this, because when we got home, she told me to take our copy of Ancillary Justice off the shelf and give it to him.

And she loved me. I could see that in her eyes, too. And I know this, because as much as she loved being with her friends (remember the table?), there were some nights -- a LOT of nights -- where she just wanted to hermit, to stay home and not have to talk to anyone but her dog...and me. This is what love is to introverts, it's when even if you don't want to interact with anyone at all, you want to be with this person. Even when you're mentally and emotionally exhausted and want nothing more than to be alone, you want that person around.

Here's what I know: her body is gone, but she will be with me forever. She's a part of me, I am who I am now because of her.

A poem by Henry Scott Holland:
Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by my old familiar name,
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used
Put no difference in your tone,
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was,
Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It it the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near,
Just around the corner.
All is well. Read less

I met Susann for the first time on August 17th, 2006. We were in Austin, and it was our first date; we met at a coffee shop downtown. She was actually coming from a job interview, so she was dressed up, and she looked good, but the first thing I REALLY noticed about her, and the first thing I see when I think about her in my mind, is the eyes. First of all they're very blue; in the right light, they're the blue of a cloudless summer sky. It's very striking and very attractive. Spend any real time... Read more with her, though, and you'll see other things.

You could see in her eyes, there's an intelligence that, when seen in full force, skips right over "impressive" and lands squarely in "humbling". She loved science, and graphs, and news about space, just had a curiosity that knew no bounds. She would ask me, "Hey, did you read this thing about" and I hadn't, but I didn't need to, she would tell me about it.

Also in her eyes, there was what I could only call a mischievous sparkle. Offer her an adventure of some kind, going somewhere new, cooking something different, even just getting her dream dining table, she would get this almost manic enthusiasm that was totally infectious. She'll get this wide-eyed look, and do this chuckle, "hee hee HEE!".

It feels like everyone who's reached out to me since Susann's passing mentiones her laugh in particular. A good friend who couldn't make it today tweeted out last night: "thinking tonight of a friend's laugh which could light the darkest night, a hug for your very soul."

About the dining table, it wasn't just because it was heavy and shiny, it was because there was finally enough room to get all the people she wanted around it at the same time.

She got excited about books. She had favorite authors and favorite bookstores. She loved books, and was downright evangelical about the books that she loved. I'll give you a perfect example: because she was bed-bound, we needed an ambulance to take her to radiation therapy from home, and no matter the medication we got her on, it was painful for her the entire way: driving to the place, getting her on the MRI machine, driving her home, it was excruciating. But apparently, instead of just laying there and being in pain, she was talking to the guy in back with her about books; I know this, because when we got home, she told me to take our copy of Ancillary Justice off the shelf and give it to him.

And she loved me. I could see that in her eyes, too. And I know this, because as much as she loved being with her friends (remember the table?), there were some nights -- a LOT of nights -- where she just wanted to hermit, to stay home and not have to talk to anyone but her dog...and me. This is what love is to introverts, it's when even if you don't want to interact with anyone at all, you want to be with this person. Even when you're mentally and emotionally exhausted and want nothing more than to be alone, you want that person around.

Here's what I know: her body is gone, but she will be with me forever. She's a part of me, I am who I am now because of her.

A poem by Henry Scott Holland:
Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by my old familiar name,
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used
Put no difference in your tone,
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was,
Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It it the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near,
Just around the corner.
All is well. Read less