Remembering Mama — A Woman of Valor
Sue Roush was one of those rare folks who made the world better than she found it. In her space, there was always room for another. And she was my Mom.
In January of this year, after a long battle with cancer, intense treatment, and ensuing side effects, she passed away. She was a fighter and was looking forward to truly living in 2020.
Today would’ve been her 60th birthday. And the weight is hefty.
Feeble as the gesture may be, I wanted to honor her legacy by sharing part of her story. These are the words I shared at her funeral. A small window into a life of massive love, accomplishment, and advocacy.
—
My Mom’s favorite word was shit.
Mainly because life gives us an awful lot of it, and it’s a perfect descriptor for a lot of frustrating, unkempt, or even silly things. It’s sharp, descriptive, and to the point. She called it the “family word”. All of her Arkansas kin would understand the fierce genetics that fueled many a scenario of which that word was dropped. Because, well, sometimes it was the best one to use.
And this week, I’ve found myself saying the same thing over and over in my head:
Well shit, Mom, what do we do now?
I think I speak for the family when I say we feel rudderless. She was our north star; the emotional catalyst for our lives. We floated in her orbit because that’s way of which we loved our lives the most.
Selfishly, I can’t help but think about all the things that will be tragically different now. How I’m not sure how to re-watch The West Wing again without her; how I can’t text her about Oscar movies or baseball or political shenanigans; how we can’t plan random trips to New York just to see one show anymore; how we can’t laugh at the absurdity of small-town life; how we can’t make art together at the playhouse anymore; how we can’t argue over which musical is better; and so many other things.
There’s a void.
And it hurts.
And I miss my Mama.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know how to move forward. Because if I’m being completely honest, I’d admit that I know what to do. Because she showed me the way.
She showed all of us the way. The way of passion, the way of creativity, the way of relentless pursuit, the way of the fighter, the way of showing up, the way of love. She showed us the way of valor.
—
I ask you, family, friends, and loved ones … Could we have known a better cheerleader; a better advocate; a better dreamer; a better fighter; a better doer of hard things than Sue Roush?
Was there ever a more fiercely loving individual in our lives than her?
Is there anything more heroic than living a life dedicated to making everyone around them better; making their pathway clearer; investing in the bold dreams and pursuits of others? Because, for my money, no one championed the underdog or brought out the best in others like my Mama.
She spent her adult life dedicated to being the advocate of others; the advocate she never had.
Mama sat on the front lines of intolerant judgement as she dared to build a courageous career and still have a family; she persevered through abusive work environments knowing she’d one day have her opportunity to shine; she was bold in pursuing her graduate degrees later in life; she silenced critics; show showed-up; she delivered the goods; she built a wonderful family; and she did it all, in many ways, alone. She was a pioneer. A fierce feminist who dared to have a vision for herself and the life of those she loved most and said, “Yes, I can do that. Cynics be damned”.
And she did it.
She broke through the barbed wire of patriarchy and walked barefoot across the coals of systemic injustice and made it to the mountaintop on her own terms. She was driven and no one could take that away from her.
And how did she pay it forward?
Look around the room.
This place is filled with hundreds of folks whose lives were directly impacted by the time, words, and love my Mama poured into them. She made it her mission to not just see the best in people but to tell them that she saw it; to speak those best things into life; to make them tangible.
She made it her mission to inspire the generations behind her, especially working women, that what they hold dear, whey they envision are worth hearing and doing. She made it her mission to tear down the barbed wire she trekked through and build a bridge in its place. She advocated for those that deserved attention and love. She was the voice of understanding.
And I stand here marveling at how astounding and admirable a life like that can be. She lived it. She was our hero. She showed us the way. Because that’s what a woman of valor does. She reminds us of the things that stir us by saying:
- We don’t have to settle for the status quo.
- We’re allowed to ask, “Why not?”.
- Great things happen when we believe in ourselves and see the best in others.
That, my friends, is valor.
—
Beyond the amazing professional credentials, she never wasted an opportunity to share in the deep, personal moment. My Mama showed me how to love. Because above all else, family was everything. Fiery as she could be, not a single soul could doubt where her allegiance laid and the love she put forward.
I learned to love from her; how to be selfless while still owning my identity and finding hope in my personal vision; how to be faithful in truth and light; how to treat each day as a creative opportunity to love better; how to treasure and build a family.
I feel and love deeply because of my Mama.
I’ll never forget, when my partner, Marissa, and I started dating. It was serious enough that it was probably worth sharing with my folks that there was yet another woman in my life. There we were, walking down the sidewalk in Lincoln outside the Lied Center heading in to see Avenue Q … Mama and I were walking together a bit behind the rest of our group. Now, she’d known Marissa for some time before our coupling was a thing; that context matters. I take a deep breath and I say,
“Well Mom, I think Marissa and I are starting to get sort of serious. I think we’re gonna give it a go. We’re kind of together now.”
And without missing a beat she said, “I like this one. Don’t mess it up.”
Not, “oh wow, congrats”, or “good for you”, or “tell me more”. Just, “I like this one don’t mess it up.”
Well, Mama, I’m happy to report that — so far — I haven’t messed it up. Because of your love, your example, you fierceness, and your ability to see the best in people, I learned how to do that. I learned how to be better. I learned how to build something worth fighting for. I’ve a family that is far better than I deserve and ultimately it’s because of you.
And through that family, we were blessed to see my Mama don a new role; a role of which she was perfectly suited; the role of Grandma, or “Ammie” as we call it. A whole new world of love, and discovery was unlocked at the birth of my beautiful daughter, Sophia. A big part of that new discovery was watching my Mom become “Ammie”. Watching her teach my baby girl how to be unapologetic, how to be creative, how to be fierce, and how to sing show tunes. It was a beautiful, beautiful sight to behold.
—
My three-year-old daughter treasured her Ammie unlike any other. And true to our little one’s feisty spirit, she wanted to help with this service; she wanted her words to be heard. So, she wrote a letter …
Dear Ammie,
I love you so much.
I had so much fun times with you. I am so sad we missed our sleepover. I hope I can still have the sleepover with Papa.
My favorite thing with you was baking. I loved baking cupcakes and chocolate pizza. Remember when you made that prime rib and I just SMASHED it? That prime rib was out of this world.
My favorite things about you were your beautiful brown eyes, your white hair like Ursula, and when you had silly monkey hair.
I love you.
The time wasn’t long enough. It was just so short because you were so sick you had to leave. I needed more time.
… We just needed more time. No truer words.
I mean, I’m beyond grateful for the time we had — but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel cheated at some level.
—
I never took the opportunity to apologize. To say I’m sorry for being, as you said, “too much like you”; for being stubborn; for spending most of my faith journey wandering in doubt; for being quick to anger too many times; I’m sorry for so, so much.
But I’m grateful that I’ve learned to understand the messiness of living a fierce life; of knowing that I can feel deeply and use that to birth goodness; to know that love is the most powerful force; and to know the pathway is clear because you took it upon yourself to light the way. I know how to be and who to be because of the way you raised me; because of the way you valued yourself; and because of the way you invested in others.
I know what valor is because of you.
—
Well shit, Mom, what do we do now, huh?
Silly as it may be, I can still hear her voice direct as ever telling me like it is:
“Guess what, you don’t have to have all the answers … but you know what to do. Do all the stuff you said you were going to do. Do the hard stuff you’re too scared to do. Do it with all your heart; feel deep, complicated things, and share that with the world.
You have goodness in you and the world needs it. See the best in others, and you’ll find your way. Love and protect your family.
But don’t stop making stuff. Do it. Be yourself. And don’t apologize for it. And take care of your dad. He’s one of the good ones.”
—
I’m not sure what your “Sue moment” would be, but I’m confident that those of you who knew her well knows exactly what she’d say to you today. You can hear her voice, feel her seeing you, and get wrapped up in her unfiltered, contagious laugh. You know what she saw in you and that she’d expect you to be remarkable anyway.
She showed us the way.
She showed us what valor looks like.
She’s championing us to do the hard things and to always lead the way with fierce, honest love.
Let us make the world more beautiful and those around us better. She showed us how.
