A story about a special friendship between two young girls, one would become a writer, the other would loose the most important battle of her life……….. I was sorting through old photo albums and there it was staring me in the face, a photograph of Tiny Sue. I hadn’t thought of her in years, and the very thought of her brought a longing to my heart. A longing for a friendship that was special and too short. As I held the photo, the tears came, tears that were forty years over due. It was in the early 60’s and we’d just moved close to my grandparent’s home, our back yards connected. My Grandfather had suffered a serious heart attack, which left him unable to work. After a yearlong struggle, he was starting to get around again. The Hawke family had been my Grandparents neighbors before they moved, a few months before he had his heart attack. So anytime Grandpa went to visit, I tagged along to visit with Sue. We all called her Tiny Sue because she was tiny. She was older than myself by a year or two but she was so fragile-so small. She appeared translucent almost like a gossamer angel. This is except when she smiled. Her radiant smile lit up the room while her laughter could sooth the most troubled soul. I could tell from the start Sue was special and was different from other children our age. Being very weak and tiring easily, she couldn’t run and play; there was a sadness that surrounded her. You could see it in the eyes of her family. They tried to hide it with the smiles, but you could see the sadness creep into their faces if you watched from the corner of your eye. If they felt you watching them they would dawn their masks; their happy faces would once again cover their sadness. But their eyes told the tale; there was a deep sadness cutting into their souls. It was the look of helplessness, of a parent knowing that their child is hurting and there isn’t any thing they can do to make that pain and hurt go away. I remember that Tiny Sue didn’t eat much, so Mr. & Mrs. Hawke liked it when I came to visit because they would make us Sue’s favorite thing, milk toast. They would toast up a slice of white bread break it into small pieced in a glass, sprinkle sugar and cinnamon add a dash of vanilla to it and then add ice-cold milk. She would eat a whole glass as we talked and played slap jack, fish, crazy eights or old maid. I was the only contact she had outside of her family and my grandparents, Tiny Sue didn’t attend school, she couldn’t. I never questioned why, not that I’d have gotten an answer other than she was sick. I knew that Tiny Sue had to go to the Doctor a lot. They did treatments that made her very tired and very sick. She told me that she hated her treatments. The treatments made her feel worse than before she went. Just when she was starting to feel better she had to go back for another treatment and would feel sick again. When I asked my Grandparents about her treatments they told me that it was grown up stuff and I wouldn’t understand. What was there to understand, my friend was hurting, I wanted to help her, and no one would tell me how. Every question was met with silence or “you wouldn’t understand”. All I was sure about was that something was wrong, each time I visited Sue she was weaker than before, she got to the point where she wouldn’t even eat the milk toast or the Cherry Popsicles she loved. Her skin had always been very white almost translucent and now it was even more so, I could see her blood veins in her face and hands. She was always cold, and wore heavy sweaters even in the summer months. My visits were spaced further and further apart as Sue grew sicker and sicker, she just wasn’t able to sit up and visit with me anymore. Then one day, I was told that we were all going to the hospital, as Tiny Sue was there, she was no longer at home. You must remember that this was the 60’s and children weren’t allowed in hospitals, as we were germ carriers. Only adults could visit in the hospital and they had to wear special gowns and masks when they went in to visit Sue. We could visit through the windows if the patient was on the ground floor, but of course Tiny Sue was on the third floor and she was too weak to get out of bed and wave at the window. I didn’t know that I wouldn’t be able to see my friend until I got to the hospital. The adults took turns going up to see her, and the others would stay in the parking lot with the rest of us children. We were not even allowed in the lobby. This was more confusing, I knew that I could help her feel better, after all that’s what I’d been doing all this time. Now I am not allowed to be around her, because I might make her sick. This was supposed to make me feel better and accept the fact that I wasn’t allowed in? If children aren’t allowed in the hospital why do they have my friend there? I know she’s special, but she’s still a child. If you broke the rules to let her in, why can’t I go too? I remember Sue telling me how tired she was, how she just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. She was tired of being sick and hurting, she knew that her parents wanted her to keep fighting but she’d lost that will to fight, she just wanted to let go of it all, to be free of pain again, to be a child again – one that wasn’t allowed in the hospital. Suddenly it’s all over; the adults are now in the parking lot, with tears in their eyes. I know this can’t be good, I ask when is Sue coming home. They just look at me and say, “She’s not.” That’s it? “She’s not.” No explanation. I’m told not to ask so many questions, it upsets her family. So I sit in silence, not understanding, and angry at their refusal to talk to me about what’s happened to my friend. They keep forgetting Tiny Sue was my friend. There’s lots of whispering, low voices, I could hear broken parts of adult conversations, “arrangements must be made”, and “phone calls must be made”, “make food for the family”, and “they shouldn’t be left alone”. But I’ve already been told to be silent; I can’t ask what they are talking about. What arrangements, what calls, what, what, what? Tiny Sue disappeared that day, never to be seen or talked about again. I was told that asking questions about her upset her family. They were trying to heal to move past the loss. They never thought about the fact that I too needed to heal, I needed to understand that my friend was dead, that she was with God. Back then children weren’t allowed at the funeral’s either, especially if it was a child, as it upset the adults. It was still the era of “a child was to be seen and not heard.” My cousin Linda, the age of Sue’s older sisters, got to go to her funeral. Linda was a young lady, not a child. She told me that she remembers, Sue being in an all white dress like a bridal dress. She looked beautiful like a fine porcelain doll or an angel. It took many years before my mother finally talked to me about Tiny Sue. She had leukemia, they had tried various different treatments but nothing worked for her. She passed away in the intensive care unit that night; she’d been in a coma most of the time. She just slipped away from us. I get it; we aren’t allowed to upset the adults. I get that I’m not allowed to talk to the Hawke family about my friend anymore. I understand that they are grieving. I am coming to the understanding that I am not supposed to question the events that surrounded my friend’s disappearance. They’ve forgotten that I lost something special that day too. I was forced to just let this special person in my life, pass away. To be forgotten. By not talking about Sue, my memories were buried. Successfully buried for over 40 years, until the photograph. That face brought back all those memories, all those emotions, all those tears. I was finally able to cry for the loss of Tiny Sue. I felt better for that, finally being allowed to grieve.I realize now that they were trying to protect me. They felt that if they didn’t allow me to dwell on Sue’s death, that it might somehow be easier. I still question whom they were actually protecting, them or me? I know that it was difficult to lose such a young child in such a terrible fashion. We all watched as the disease ate up all her strength and energy. I realized something was happening, but I was too young to realize the total reality of the situation. Being shielded from the conversations relating to Sue’s condition didn’t allow me the chance to prepare for her death. The photograph also answered another mystery. The doll that Sue is holding, I had one that was identical to Sue’s when I was a child. She was my favorite doll. She had a flexible rubber body, with moveable arms and legs, she was able to drink water from a bottle and wet her diaper. So she had several outfits and extra diapers. The manufacturer advised that you shouldn’t feed your baby milk or juice, as it would cause mold to grow inside of the doll. The doll was also able to go into the bathtub and take a bath with you. Her eyes opened and shut when you sat her up or laid her down. I had that baby doll until I got married, it felt silly to bring the doll into my grown up home. I gave her to a young girl I used to baby-sit. The dolly was ironically named Suzie. In my memory I just assumed that I’d named the doll after my Great Grandmother, but after all my memories came back I realized she was named so I would remember my friend. I am an adult now, and have helped my children deal with the loss of a friend. A child’s death is always more tragic and harder to deal with, but dealing with it, talking about it allows understanding, acceptance and healing. I remembered the reality of not having closure, and felt it was better for them to be able to ask questions and get answers. My story is not that unusual. I have talked to others of my generation and they too remember friends just disappearing. Sue wasn’t the only friend I lost in that fashion while I was still a child. Talking to others that remember similar circumstances allows me some degree of realization that it wasn’t just my family that responded to death in that manner. The school system would announce if a family moved away from the area. But if the child wasn’t mentioned and their desk was cleared out, you knew it wasn’t because they moved. You also knew better than to ask questions. Times have changed and graciously so have attitudes. Children are now allowed to grieve. In the 60’s we saw Neal Armstrong walk on the moon, we watched President John F. Kennedy shot and killed in Dallas, and Martin Luther King Jr. have his life and his dream cut short while trying to build a better world, and Bobby Kennedy get gunned down in his attempt to run for President. We learned to grieve as individuals and as a nation. The 60’s were a decade of change, some good, some not so good, but it was a period of enlightenment, forcing us to evaluate some of the practices put in place by society and demand changes and acceptance. It was a time of rebellion, of the Viet Nam Conflict, burning of draft cards and bras, introduction of the Birth Control Pill and Women’s Rights. It was also a time of the Sexual Revolution, Woodstock, and psychedelic drugs. It was the age of Aquarius, when new rhythms were being brought to our ears by artists like The Monkee’s, The Beatles, The Beach Boys, The Bee Gee’s, The Rolling Stones, Cat Stevens, Janis Joplin, Carole King, The Byrds and many more. This was the time of change we went from a Doo Whoop culture to Rock and Roll and Motown inspired youth. It was time when Hippies started living in communes producing a Sexual Revolution, orgies and Love Children. The dark side was introduced when Charles Manson brought fear into our lives with the Tate- LaBianca Murders, Sharon Tate, Abigail Folger, Rosemary and Leno LaBianca were all murdered and the mansion was covered with a graffiti of their blood, “Death to the Pigs” was Manson’s legacy. We witnessed the family breakdown, divorce was becoming commonplace and acceptable, and Gay lifestyles were starting to emerge. It was a time of Bell Bottom pants, paisley prints, tie die, mini skirts, hot pants, bikini’s, go go boots, platform shoes, granny glasses, mood rings, love beads and Jesus sandals. There were new tag words, Bitchen, Flower Power, Groovy, POW’s and MIA’s. We were introduced to Barbie and Ken, the skateboard, Banana seats, Hoola Hoops, black lights, lava lamps, troll dolls, super balls, Sea Monkey’s, Ouija Boards, Twister, pet rocks, eight track tapes and the colored television. We had sit-ins, and protest marches, concerts and college educations. We were a generation who helped to break down walls to tear down barriers, we were also the generation who forgot to rebuild and replace what we had rebelled against. It had not yet been recognized that children needed to be able to grieve, to deal with the loss in order to heal. I needed to be able to say good-bye. My time has finally arrived, my memories are strong; I can now grieve for the loss of my friend. I understand now that as adults they were too grief stricken to see that I was struggling to understand too. In their views if they didn’t talk to me about Sue, then I would forget. In some way’s they were right. But the proof is in the photograph, my memories were just buried under the surface. Good-bye Tiny Sue, I love you still! Wanita Coy When I turn the pages in my book of life, a new and unexpected hero arises, my daughter, as she becomes a mother herself.
