Denis J. Jiménez

This is the last photo of Suzy I took on Monday, October 15, 2012 at our usual table at that east-side Indianapolis Bdubs.

When I found out Suzy Mulligan had died, my brain couldn’t process that information. In fact, even right now I can’t seem to accept that Suzy is no more. On Saturday, a large group of friends met at Bdubs to celebrate her life. In the middle of the large group of tables was Suzy’s beer. And for me, seeing that glass of beer made me believe it was all OK because she was going to show up, maybe she was just running a little late. As we were leaving, I looked at that beer one more time, closed my eyes, and tried to seal in my last memory of Suzy at that place.

This is the first time I’ve ever experienced this type of loss. I can’t even bring myself to imagine what her husband, Brian, and her two daughters, Kori and Darby (Kirby) are feeling. It is so brutal, so incomprehensible, so mind-numbing, that it borders on the delirious – even the fictitious. It can’t be real. But it is. And thus the question: how is it possible to learn how to go on after you’ve lost someone whom you deeply cared about? My answer is simply: I don’t know. There are pains that cut too deep into the bone; some hurts that you’ll always carry. But the very least anyone can do is to draw comfort from memories. In my case, though I only knew Suzy for a short time, I’ll never forget the way she truly cared about my well-being. I must admit, however, that Suzy and I weren’t on too good of terms when we first met. Back in 2009 when Suzy first started at the J-school, I was incredibly annoyed because Suzy kept telling me ‘NO’ to everything I asked. Though in retrospect, every woman at the J-School, like Deb and Maggie and Tracey and so on, said ‘NO’ to anything I asked as if that was their job.

But as time went by, and we got to know each other, I really grew to care for Suzy. As human beings, we like to feel appreciated and accepted; we like to feel our presence matters. And Suzy, with her unforgiving honesty and true loving kindness, made me feel that way. And as a foreigner in Indiana, that doesn’t happen to me often, if ever. It didn’t matter what problem I had, or who I wanted to bitch about, or what I wanted to say, I knew that I could always go to the 5th floor of the IT, sit down at the J-School office and chat. That’s it: just chat. Of course, I wasn’t the only one at the J-School who experienced that. Everyone in our group can tell you of countless of times Suzy was always there. And because of that, she’ll always be here. “He who kisses the joy as it flies lives in eternity’s sunrise,’ said the poet. I am incredibly fortunate to have met such an amazing, loving human being. I am reminded of Paul’s second letter to Timothy, chapter four. Suzy, wherever you might be, you have ‘fought the fine fight, [you] have run the course to the finish, [you] have observed the faith. From this time on there is reserved for [you] the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give [you] as a reward in that day, yet not only to [you], but also to also to all those who have loved HIS manifestation.’ This manifestation is of course love; that love we are commanded by God to have for each other, and most especially our friends.

Dante said, ‘l’amor che muove il sole l’altre stelle.’ The love that moves the sun and all the stars… And as Roberto Benigni said at the Oscars after winning Best Foreign Film for Life is Beautiful, ‘love is divinity. And if we have faith in them, [if we believe], divinity can appear.’

This is no more true than with you Suzy.

Rest in peace, my friend.