Suzanne had been married to her beloved husband, Alan, since 1977. Together, they raised a son, Bruce, and became proud grandparents to three granddaughters: Camelia, Violet, and Daisy.
After Suzanne’s passing, a deeply touching note Alan had written for her was shared by *People*. He had given her the note the day before she died, handwritten in all caps and wrapped in pink peonies.
“Love. I use it every day, sometimes many times a day. I use it to sign off emails to my loving family, and even to close friends. I say it when I’m leaving the house,” the note began, as published by *People*. “There’s ‘love,’ then ‘love you,’ and ‘I love you!’—each one carrying its own weight. Sometimes, I feel obligated to use ‘love’ in response to someone else, even when it feels a little uncomfortable, but I use it anyway.”
“I also use love to describe a great meal. I use it to express how I feel about a show on Netflix. I often use love referring to my home, my cat Gloria, to things Gloria does, to the taste of a cantaloupe I grew in my garden. I love the taste of a freshly harvested organic royal jumbo medjool date. I love biting a fig off the tree. I love watching two giant blackbirds who live nearby swooping by my window in a power dive. My daily life encompasses things and people I love and things and people I am indifferent to,” he continued. “I could go on ad infinitum, but you get it. What brand of love do I feel for my my wife Suzanne? Can I find it in any of the above? A resounding no!!!! There is no version of the word that is applicable to Suzanne and I even use the word applicable advisedly.”
“The closest version in words isn’t even close. It’s not even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction. Unconditional love does not do it. I’ll take a bullet for you doesn’t do it. I weep when I think about my feelings for you. Feelings… That’s getting close, but not all the way.”
“55 years together, 46 married and not even one hour apart for 42 of those years. Even that doesn’t do it,” he added. “Even going to bed at 6 o’clock and holding hands while we sleep doesn’t do it. Staring at your beautiful face while you sleep doesn’t do it.”
“I’m back to feelings. There are no words,” he concluded. “There are no actions. No promises. No declarations. Even the green shaded scholars of the Oxford University Press have spent 150 years and still have failed to come up with that one word. So I will call it, ‘Us,’ uniquely, magically, indescribably wonderful ‘Us.’”