Stinson's, Sue Adams speaking.

Sue, Mama Sue, Mrs. Adams.  You could tell how close you were to her by what you called her.  I called her by all these but when I called her on the phone I always said "Edna" and she'd reply with a big laugh, "J.R., How are YOU?"

I worked with Sue at Stinson's jewelers in downtown Camden, Arkansas from 1996 to 2002.  After school and on the weekends during high school and on Saturdays and breaks during college.  If anyone talked about shopping at the oldest jewelry store west of the Mississippi, they'd inevitably mention her.  She worked there for 50 years waiting on customers, dusting shelves, polishing silver, registering brides for their wedding gifts and always with a smile, big rouged cheeks, and at least one strand of gold beads.  She had her own style and way of doing things.  She read the paper everyday and if you dared to interrupt her she'd reply "must you?"  

She and her husband, Tasker, owned a row of efficiency apartments in town located behind their big house that also had two apartments on the first floor and they occupied the full second floor.  Tasker sold everything from Levelour blinds to candy and tobacco.  They always drove a new Mercury car every two years but their last purchase before he died was a Lincoln Continental that was white with a persimmon top and interior that she drove for over 15 years.  In a small town, the pinnacle of success.   Aside from having the self proclaimed prettiest diamond ring and prettiest blue dress in Camden, you would never asses her her as having a pretentious bone in her body.  The first question she asked anyone was "Can I help?'  

I knew Sue for a long time before I started working with her and she is on the short list of people I've known in my life that were completely selfless.  If I told her it'd be forever since I'd had (fill-in the blank) food - the next day it was waiting in the back for either my snack or dinner.  She taught me how to be polite as a handicap and the difference between a dinner size fork and a cold meat fork and everything in between.  She came to both my high school and college graduations.  She gave me little gifts on my birthday and Christmas of which I still have along with the Waterford stems she gave me from my high school graduation with the enclosure card.  She never had children of her own but "adopted" two as her grandchildren and I was among those she said were hers.  She loved people and disliked them, too, and was the person that taught me that you can dislike someone but it's never alright to hate anyone.  

Sue would end most of her sentences with "and all like that" when she was telling a story.  She loved to tell stores and all like that.  My favorite one was about her brother who had a weak stomach and she was a teenager. There was a family that lived up the road who's last name was Funk. As you'd imagine, they were less than sanitary.  At the table she'd pass the butter to her brother and say "you want some of Mrs. Funk's butter?" and he'd gag.  He also put a hot biscuit on the back of her neck one morning and she jumped up and took her plate and smashed it over his head.  I never made her mad, as you can well imagine why.  

Sue was a lifelong optimist.  She had hard times for sure but you only heard her share the good times and all the laughs we shared have remained with me to this day.  We all have special people in our lives that aren't a blood relation - I've had many.  I loved her from the first time we met and I cried for weeks after she died but the day I realized she wouldn't have wanted me to be so sad because I was I knew the time for grieving was over.  I think about her every day and anytime I get a chance I talk about her and tell people about her.  I do believe that people never really go away even after they've died - our memories are forever and sharing the good times keeps them in our hearts.

Thanks for the laughs, Edna.