“What—what are you saying to me?” I finally shrieked into the phone.
David’s voice quavered as he delivered a message that no parents on earth should ever hear: “Susie was shot. Murdered. She’s gone,” he choked out through his tears.
In disbelief, not knowing where the self-control I summoned came from, I said to David, “I don’t want you to drive home in such a state. How are you going to get home from the office?”
“One of my partners will drive me home,” he managed to answer.
“You need to call the airline to get on the first flight we can to St. Louis tomorrow for the two of us, Eric, and Rachel.”
“I’ve already done that. Also, Alvin told me that his sister, Lois, is opening her house as a meeting place for everyone.”
News traveled quickly. Neighbors arrived in tears, offering help and support. These were people we had known for the thirty-plus years we had lived in our home, people who had watched Susie grow from a teenager to an adult.
David arrived home with his partner. There was nothing to say. We just hugged each other as hard as we could.
Soon Rachel appeared. “I can’t cry,” she said. “It’s unreal.”
Eric and his wife Nancy arrived soon after that. Eric said nothing. His red, swollen eyes said it all.
Chapter
5
Our family’s life was irrevocably changed on December 16, 2008. On that day, my wonderful daughter, Susie Schaffer, had her life savagely extinguished by a young punk with a gun.
She was a vibrant human being with a personality that mixed strength and softness, a blend of focused grit and sensitivity, sometimes mischievous and often outspoken.
Susie first demonstrated her outspokenness when she was three years old. I was talking to an elderly lady who unfortunately was missing her top front teeth and whose hair was stringy and in disarray.
Susie studied her while we were talking. All of a sudden, her little voice piped up. “Are you a witch?” she asked innocently. I quickly clamped my hand to her mouth. Luckily, this woman was hard of hearing.
Her grit manifested itself when she was a young child as well. She could be tough as nails, but at the same time, she was sensitive to other people’s feelings. This balance was demonstrated in an incident when she was eight years old and in grammar school.
One of the boys in her class kept making fun of her name. He called her “Schaffer beer,” repeating it continually and annoying Susie to no end. She warned this boy that if he didn’t stop, she would let him have it. Finally, one day she had enough of his nonstop name calling.
The school day had ended. Holding her briefcase, Susie was walking home from school and this boy was behind her yelling “Schaffer beer” over and over again. Susie whipped around on her heels and without hesitation kicked him in his shins so hard that he doubled over. But that was not enough for Susie. She hoisted her briefcase and swung it at the boy as he was doubled over, saying, “I warned you.” She ran home and burst into the house just after I received a phone call from the boy’s mother.
We talked about it later. I remember Susie at that tender age revealing her sensitivity to me about her feelings and this bully. “He hurt my feelings all the time,” she said. “I didn’t want to hurt him, but I finally had to do something.”
And Susie did. That kid never called her “Schaffer beer” again.
When people spoke with Susie, she looked into their eyes, and you could almost see her absorbing every word they said. Her interest in others was evident, and her sincere smile lit up her face whenever common ground was reached. It’s a cliché, but to know her was to love her.
Susie was even lovable in spite of her housekeeping deficiency. She attended to the laundry and kept the house as clean as possible, but shoes, clothing, and papers were always lying about. Annoyed by the clutter, Rachel and Sarah voiced their concerns to me. I told them it was something they couldn’t change, although they could help their mother by keeping their own rooms neat. I also pointed out that if she had the choice between spending more time on housekeeping and cooking a delicious meal for them, the latter would win. The disarray in the house didn’t matter as much to Susie as time spent exercising, satisfying her children’s palates, and sustaining their nutrition.
To me, the most important aspect of Susie’s personality was her profound concern with accomplishing projects for the “greater good.” These pursuits included activities such as volunteering in Barack Obama’s 2008 presidential campaign. Phone calls rang back and forth from our home in Great Neck to hers in St. Louis on election night. She called us that night, crying, then laughing, then screaming into the phone, “He made it! He made it!”
She volunteered her time in the St. Louis public schools where she taught exercise classes and spoke about the need to maintain physical fitness. Even when she had a grueling schedule, she soldiered on because she loved her profession and she loved children.
In the spring of 2007, she completed another important project. She opened a new Gyrotonic exercise studio in St. Louis, finally realizing her dream of owning her own business. She was overwhelmed with happiness now that she was able to continue her passion for teaching, exercise, and nutrition.
Her passion went well beyond simply exercising. It included promoting healthy living for herself and others and supporting breast cancer research. She became aware of breast cancer in early childhood upon learning that her paternal grandmother had died of the disease. She learned that the disease could possibly be prevented by eating the right foods and exercising regularly, a theory she eagerly shared with her friends and students. Susie’s enthusiasm was contagious. She convinced her students that the search for a cure for breast cancer was imperative, whether anyone in their families had the disease or not. She consistently donated a part of the fees she received to breast cancer research and considered it her way of giving back for the professional success and personal fulfillment she was experiencing. Many people gladly contributed, not only because they believed in the cause but also out of respect for Susie and her dedication to finding a cure. When Susie counted the many hundreds of dollars everyone donated, she felt both gratified and grateful.
Susie’s project was emblematic of her determination to do the right thing. “Acting responsibly” was a phrase she heard repeatedly throughout her life. Her grandmother and I spent much of our adult lives in political activism and in helping others on both community and national levels. This expression, however, was driven home perversely during the spring of 2006.
It was a little warmer than usual for mid-May in St. Louis, and the warmth of the sunshine on Susie’s face felt soothing after a long day of teaching. She headed to the supermarket to pick up food for the two children who still lived at home with her, fifteen-year-old Sarah and sixteen-year-old Daniel.
Susie parked her car in the supermarket’s lot, found a shopping cart, and checked the list of items she and her long-time partner and soul mate Alvin had compiled during the week. Sarah and Daniel were growing teenagers with huge appetites who were conscious of their mother’s focus on eating healthy foods.
The shopping cart was brimming with items, particularly foods she knew Sarah and Daniel would like for their school lunches and dinners. After everything was checked out, she looked forward to going home and preparing the evening’s meal.
“Where’s my car?” she mumbled. She walked up and down the parking lot aisles. No car. Again, she walked up and down, but still could not spot her car. She started perspiring as she pushed the heavy shopping cart yet a third time around the lot.
Maybe I just think I parked it in this aisle, but didn’t. She wondered if her car had been stolen and whether she should call the police. But then she suddenly spotted it and immediately expressed several epithets that were