Susan Tanner

Susan Jane Tanner
An Improper Essay by Sara Tanner

This woman was absolutely [expletive] legendary.
She was *the most* patient wife to David, loving Mama to me/Meemaw to Alexander (she was "gone" before Robin was born), and incredibly caring teacher, friend, coach, and general human to many. She was SO naughty and SO funny and SO fun. She was also an incredibly talented and passionate musician, but that was far from being the most interesting thing about her. My best and longest friend from childhood said, “she should have been laughing and flirting into her 90s”, and truer words have never been typed. In fact, if this world were just, my mama would have lived on forever and ever and ever. She and Betty White. They’d have been great friends, I think.

When my mom was born, her mother tried to give her back. “A blonde girl? No. I ordered a boy. A boy with dark hair.” That’s what good ol’ Nana said to the nurse when she placed her new baby in her arms. Curly Susan won her mother over shortly thereafter, it’s ok.
She sang her first song in her crib when she wasn’t even a year old. It was, “I don’t want her you can have her she’s too fat for me”. I [expletive] you not, that’s a real [expletive] song and baby Susan heard her dad playing it and decided she wanted to sing along.

I’m pretty sure my mom actually learned to play the piano before she was born, but I know for a fact she’d perfected it before adulthood. Her father would come home from a hard day at work and ask her to play him something to calm him. His favourite was Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy, and god damn did she ever play it beautifully. She played it at his funeral, and also at random for me when I wanted to hear something extraordinary.

Susan Stone was a staple of the lounge at the Royal York Hotel in Toronto. She had quite the following, so I’m told. She also played in the Grand Stand Band at the CNE year after year (with my Dad, who she met in a band, because they were [expletive] cool), backing up insane superstars including Diana [expletive] Ross. I know there was so much more to her musical career than that, but again — not actually the most interesting part about her.

I know from receiving many many messages, letters and emails over the years that she was an extremely influential and loved teacher. Do you know what I’m talking about? I never encountered one myself, honestly, but I’m talking about one of those once-in-a-lifetime (if you’re lucky) teachers that you never forget because they had such an impact on your experience at school. Her favourite student told me that my mama was the reason she went to school at all. That’s pretty huge.

My mom knew she loved “young people” and their young energy, but she didn’t actually want any kids of her own. My dad had to work to convince her, but once he had, and I arrived, she wished she’d started younger and had more. Susan Tanner was [expletive] meant to be a mother. She lived for me from the day I was born; the day she thought her life truly began. She was so proud, even when I was a turd (which was often). She was the perfect, patient buffer between her headstrong daughter and her even-more-headstrong husband. I never once, even for a second, doubted my mom’s absolute adoration of me. Every human should be lucky enough to experience a love like hers, but I know most aren’t. It isn’t fair. There should be more of her.

The affectionately nicknamed “Mrs T” was the “safe” parent among my friends. They could come to her for anything without fearing judgement. She offered to be “the abortion driver in case anybody needed one” for my teenaged friends which in hindsight now that I have my own children is absolutely horrifying, lol, but probably only because I can’t imagine my kids going to someone else with that and having them all go behind my back with such a huge decision. So, obviously I’m gonna have to make sure I’m that safe parent for my own kids. Thank heaven they can’t get physically pregnant tho lolololol #boymom.

She could get a pack of dogs to sing like a choir of angels. I’m not suggesting that any of the people she worked with musically were dogs, but I’m also not saying she ever tried to get dogs to sing. So. Take that as you will.
She loved funky shoes as much as the word “funky” itself, and everything that is sparkly and glittery, especially in brooch form.

If it was human and it had a penis, my mom was probably gonna hit on it. Make no mistake tho — she was all talk. My mom only had actual eyes for her best friend and husband (as far as I know, maybe she was sneaky idk). She loved hugs and fondling male biceps and shoulders so, so much, with a mischievous grin and a twinkle in her eye (under a raised eyebrow, always). I can still hear her laugh in my memory as she made moves on my husband. [expletive] I miss that. [expletive] I miss her.

For two years, she was the best grandparent ever ever ever and Alexander's second favourite person. She’d sit him in her lap and play the piano for him, and with him (his little fingers were pretty busy), singing and bouncing and absolutely radiating that love and wise adoration that only a grandmother can. She'd take him into the big room with the high ceilings and blast Michael Jackson for them to dance to together. And did they ever dance! Thumbs and shoulders for days. The best dance moves are made with thumbs and shoulders.

That’s about where Susan’s life as she knew it ended. Though once she’d moved into the nursing home, she found that everyone there - residents, nurses, PSWs - were all students, friends, parents, and boyfriends. She taught singing lessons to many within her unit (whether they knew it was happening or not) and played the piano for many, many hours a day for eager ears. Even though she wasn't really herself anymore, she was still bringing joy to those around her.

Throughout her life on earth, Susan, my beloved Mama, was a beam of light, and a source of joy and love and calm and laughter and basically whatever anyone needed her to be at any given time. She was a gift that was taken away from this world far too soon.

My mom was my best friend for my whole life. A thousand pages couldn’t begin to convey what she actually meant to me, or tell all of the stories about her that are worth telling. But I will remember. I will tell the stories. And I know I’m not alone in that.

Long Live the Legendary Susan Tanner.