Sue Gifford’s obituary was ridiculously brief. In truth, even if all her accomplishments and contributions had been listed, it would still fall short. Sue was incredible: a spiritual leader who influenced literally hundreds of lives.

I am blessed to have counted Sue among my friends–and I learned of her death a day too late to attend her funeral mass. We were not especially close. We’d have lunch or dinner every six months or so. Our conversations were deep, intimate, and long, but few and far between. Even so, I knew her well enough to appreciate her amazing prayer life, more of a conversation really, that she carried on with God. I knew her well enough to know her frustrations and irritations, what (and who) got under her skin, the anxieties and worries that dogged her. I knew her well enough to know who her best friend was, and how much she loved his company and companionship. Though Sue was a minister to many, it’s her best friend, Tanner, who will miss her most.

She loved that dog. Tanner was her favorite topic of conversation–how he came to be her dog, what his habits were, his likes and dislikes. We can give voice and words to our sadness; Tanner cannot. Tanner will mourn her loss mutely, but in ways we’ll understand, because our hearts are aching, too. And it is for him that I feel the greatest sorrow. His person is gone; he only knows her absence, her lack, and will never comprehend where she has gone and why.

I remember how highly Sue regarded me–she always introduced me to people by telling them all sort of things about me: about my book, talents, and business. She was proud of me. I’m not sure I ever made it clear to her that I was equally proud of her. Her accomplishments were so much greater, more significant, than my own: her spiritual leadership of the Oregon State University Newman Center, her integrity, her strength, her compassion, her hospitality, her tangible relationship with the divine.

In losing my friend, I have regrets. Regrets that I did not make a greater effort to spend time with her, that I did not invest more in our relationship. We were both so busy with our lives. We’d have a chance meeting and vow that we’d get together soon. She was a woman with many demands on her time and many demands on her body. Even though we knew she had an illness that would shorten her life, we were unprepared to lose her.  But in truth, we did not lose her. If you believe in the communion of the saints (and I do), then she is closer to us than ever, always ready to intercede for us, to pray on our behalf, to remember us to God, just as she always did–but even better now, face to face with Him. I look forward to seeing her again, in that next chance meeting, the one I can’t plan for, the one I prepare my soul for, someday.