July 7, 2022

RIP, Susan Trull

I never really liked her. It might have been me, but she had a talent for getting on my nerves. Once, not too long ago, we were packing up to go home after one of the many Xmas celebrations at the Andersons. Susan attended this year, so she was saying her good-byes. She looked at me and said in her thick southern accent, “Well, I’m glad you could see me.” I said, “that’s a weird thing to say.” She just laughed nervously.

Susan was Robert’s older sister. I never saw them interact much, and I know Susan pushed Cheryl to the edge of her patience.

She owned one of those late-model Camaros in black, which, I’m told, she loved. However, I never saw her drive it. She rented a Toyota to drive to Georgia, fearing, I guess, to get the Camaro dirty.

In 2017, we were passing through Jacksonville on our way home from St. Augustine, and Autumn thought it wold be nice to let Susan visit with Henry. We decided to stop at a PDQ for lunch near her house and suggested she join us. No, apparently, she only goes to Cracker Barrel. I said, “oh, well,” but after lunch we had to stop by her house.

She called Autumn all the time. All. The. Time. Sometimes multiple times a day. I know Susan often frustrated Autumn, too, but she is too good a person to show her annoyance. Autumn did not always answer the phone, but she often did and would put Henry on to talk. Susan called more when her sickness became too much. Autumn would order her grocery deliveries.

I didn’t have many interactions with Susan, and those I did were not delightful. I wish I could have been more patient with her, but she just triggered me. Autumn tells me she had a tough life, and I didn’t do anything to help, I’µ ashamed to say. Susan was always kind to Henry and sent him presents often—usually in oblong, crumpled, and heavily taped boxes addressed with a Sharpie. I should have been kinder.

Susan died early this morning, riddled with cancer. A friend of mine once said, “We all have to go sometime, and it’s never pretty.” Indeed. Rest in peace, Susan. I’ll try to be more patient, and I’ll think of you when it runs thin. I’m glad you could see me.