I first met Susan Crotts 25 years ago and soon considered her a friend. Most people who met Susan felt that way about her. We later worked together in Atlanta for six years. When an opportunity for us to work together again arose, I considered it a delight and something of a coup to be able to offer her a job in Richmond. It was not just that she was so very good at what she did, there were the intangibles of her personality she brought to the workplace, including a quick wit and an adroit ability to turn a phrase. They made her a lot of fun to be around.
Not long after Susan accepted the position as photo librarian at the International Mission Board, but before she moved to Richmond, we met in Nashville to discuss an issue that had bearing on the future of our work together. I had made a decision she didn’t like. She informed me I’d better have a good reason and be ready to tell it now or she would cut my heart out with a rusty spoon.
Earlier this week we learned that her health was a lot worse than we knew. Nursing homes and hospice were mentioned. Then Thursday morning her sister Pat told me Susan was not expected to live another two months, that she was going to bring her home and care for her there, and that plans were in the making for a ice cream party at Susan’s apartment shortly after July 4 for everyone who had been helping out while she was ill. But after lunch everything changed.
A message came from Pat. The hospital had called. Susan had taken a dramatic turn for the worse. Susan was dying and they weren’t sure Pat had time to get there before she did. I headed for the hospital, not wanting Pat to be alone. But Susan rallied. When I rounded the corner into Susan’s room, she was reclined in her bed, Pat sitting beside her, talking. I sat down too and we began to talk.
I stroked her arm and held her hand. They were cold as ice. I don’t remember much of what we said, just things friends say when there isn’t much to say … and everything to say. She asked me what I was doing there, informed me I had work to do and should be about it. I asked if it was OK that I was there. She said yes. I told her there were a whole lot of people outside that hospital room who cared for her and loved her deeply. She cut her big eyes at me and asked, “Who are they?”
She caught me off guard. I began throwing out names as they came to the top of my mind, then I saw a smile flicker across her face. The joke was on me. Susan’s humor was intact. She had gotten me one last time.
As the afternoon wore on, Susan seemed more somewhere else than with us. She began to sleep and rest. That evening she lapsed into a coma. In the morning only her body remained.
—Bill Bangham
Director of Photography
International Mission Board
I first met Susan Crotts 25 years ago and soon considered her a friend. Most people who met Susan felt that way about her. We later worked together in Atlanta for six years. When an opportunity for us to work together again arose, I considered it a delight and something of a coup to be able to offer her a job in Richmond. It was not just that she was so very good at what she did, there were the intangibles of her personality she brought to the workplace, including a quick wit and an adroit ability to turn a phrase. They made her a lot of fun to be around.