Traveling with Susan by boat in VietnamTwo months ago today, my friend Susan succumbed to cancer on January 7, 2010. Within two years of age, we had many things in common: we were both fellow missionaries to Asia under the Church of God; we were from neighboring states in Midwest America; we were alumni of the same university; we both fought cancer; and we both loved photography and traveling, often together. In fact, we were traveling companions in Vietnam, Taiwan, China, India, Lebanon, and England.
Bernie and I remember our 2004 trip to China with Susan, Choki(our adopted Chinese daughter), and Rachelle(a co-worker in Japan). We had so many funny experiences together during that two-week trip, but the best one was on a sleeper train from Beijing to Shenyang. We had five top bunks in the second-class sleeping cars. Bernie and I were in the first cubicle with six bunks, Choki and Rachelle were in the second cubicle, and Susan was assigned to the third.
After the overhead lights went out for the night, Bernie, Choki, and Rachelle all went to sleep; Susan and I were reading by the light of our small bed lamps. Before she turned out her lamp for the night, Susan climbed down from the top bunk and headed past Choki/Rachelle’s and our cubicles for the toilet at the end of the car. So far so good. But on her way back, Susan got confused about which cubicle to enter—but she didn’t know that immediately. Quietly, so as not to awaken anyone, she climbed up the end of the three-tiered beds to the top and began to crawl from the foot-end to the head-end so that she could snuggle for the night. But something was strange; no matter how she pawed at the covers, she couldn’t get them pulled back. What in the world was the matter?
Suddenly, the bed lamp snapped on and Choki peered up from under the covers. “Soo-san?” Choki spoke up with surprise in her voice. (They’d only met a few days before, so how was she to know what Susan was up to?) Choki wasn’t the only one who was surprised! With apologies and surely a red face (if we could have seen it), Susan shifted into reverse, all the time trying to keep her head down low enough so as not to bang it on the low roof of the train. (It is impossible to sit up straight in those sleeper bunks.) She made as quick an exit as she could, all the time trying not to burst out laughing at her mistake. Remembering that my light had still been on, she retreated to our cubicle without exploding, but when she related the incident, we were both unsuccessful in muffling our laughter. Roused from his sleep by our giggling, Bernie was soon a part of the laughter.
To this day, whenever we are with Choki (who lives in Japan) and remember that great trip with Susan, one of our favorite lines is, “Soo-san?”
Today I’m smiling as I remember Susan. I’m also thanking God for her life.
Bernie and I remember our 2004 trip to China with Susan, Choki(our adopted Chinese daughter), and Rachelle(a co-worker in Japan). We had so many funny experiences together during that two-week trip, but the best one was on a sleeper train from Beijing to Shenyang. We had five top bunks in the second-class sleeping cars. Bernie and I were in the first cubicle with six bunks, Choki and Rachelle were in the second cubicle, and Susan was assigned to the third.
After the overhead lights went out for the night, Bernie, Choki, and Rachelle all went to sleep; Susan and I were reading by the light of our small bed lamps. Before she turned out her lamp for the night, Susan climbed down from the top bunk and headed past Choki/Rachelle’s and our cubicles for the toilet at the end of the car. So far so good. But on her way back, Susan got confused about which cubicle to enter—but she didn’t know that immediately. Quietly, so as not to awaken anyone, she climbed up the end of the three-tiered beds to the top and began to crawl from the foot-end to the head-end so that she could snuggle for the night. But something was strange; no matter how she pawed at the covers, she couldn’t get them pulled back. What in the world was the matter?
Suddenly, the bed lamp snapped on and Choki peered up from under the covers. “Soo-san?” Choki spoke up with surprise in her voice. (They’d only met a few days before, so how was she to know what Susan was up to?) Choki wasn’t the only one who was surprised! With apologies and surely a red face (if we could have seen it), Susan shifted into reverse, all the time trying to keep her head down low enough so as not to bang it on the low roof of the train. (It is impossible to sit up straight in those sleeper bunks.) She made as quick an exit as she could, all the time trying not to burst out laughing at her mistake. Remembering that my light had still been on, she retreated to our cubicle without exploding, but when she related the incident, we were both unsuccessful in muffling our laughter. Roused from his sleep by our giggling, Bernie was soon a part of the laughter.
To this day, whenever we are with Choki (who lives in Japan) and remember that great trip with Susan, one of our favorite lines is, “Soo-san?”
Today I’m smiling as I remember Susan. I’m also thanking God for her life.
