Susan F. Duffy

Susan (Fancher) Duffy was born in Weston, CT, to Ralph and Cynthia (Ripley) Fancher on November 11, 1940. She was raised between Connecticut and Vermont and spent much of her time outdoors, walking in the woods and riding her bike. Susan had a sister, Johanna (Fancher) Wedemeyer, two years younger, also her best friend, who sadly died at age 29. My mother loved her paternal grandmother, Eula (Ferris) Fancher (b.1888–1971). Eula was a self-made, independent woman who raised three sons on her own after her husband passed away from an illness at age 30. Eula highly regarded her Native heritage as a member of the Mashantucket Pequot Tribe. Susan held a similar regard and respect for Indigenous culture throughout her own life.
Susan met my father, Edmund T. Duffy Jr., while working as a teller at the Westport Bank & Trust. They married on February 9, 1964, and stayed together for 54 years. My sister, Deborah Marie Duffy, was born in August of '64 and died a tragic death in 2001, at age 37.
Susan was a champion at overcoming hardship through the strength of her body and mind. She blasted into this world after 8 months of being in my grandmother’s womb. The doctor gave her a day to live. In her youth and throughout her early 30s, she was an award-winning artist, avid cyclist, and distance swimmer. She no longer worked at the bank but instead did needlepoint commission work for years, selling to patrons and galleries in Westport, CT, while raising my sister and me there.
Another significant milestone of Susan's was the choice to become sober at age 37. She grew up in an alcoholic home and suffered both physical and emotional abuse. Despite all of her life trials, she remained sober for 41 years.
At 38 years of age, she developed a rare autoimmune disease called systemic scleroderma. Somebody again told that she either had two or perhaps twenty years to live. Her method of coping was to learn how to meditate and love unconditionally. She dove into her hobbies and continued her studies as an artist, naturalist, self-taught botanist, and marine biologist.
During the next 20 years, she attended a cancer support group led by Dr. Bernie Siegel, where she shared, listened, and guided individuals who were navigating and processing their own prognosis. Although my mom did not have 'cancer', she had walked the walk through her trials with scleroderma. She spoke from the heart, an experienced survivor of a physical disease and the pain it entails. Bernie has quoted my mom's words in several of his published books that center around 'healing' through mind, body, and spirit. Susan was a beacon to many.
Forty years later, she lay in the ICU with a recent onset of a lung infection and pneumonia. Due to scleroderma, she has suffered from a long list of ailments, including pulmonary hypertension, a body full of scar tissue, and fibrosis of the lungs. When admitted, she still seemed convinced of a recovery. After 14 days of being in atrial fibrillation with a heart rate between 120 and 170, I lay with her and thought of all the times we spent together. From whistling tunes in her VW Bug on drives to Compo Beach to countless walks with our pet dogs, for all the cards, letters, emails, phone calls, and texts over the years. Even after years of dealing with scleroderma, she ventured further than most healthy individuals. During her 50s and 60s, I led her into some precarious instances more than once, from hikes in the high desert in Joshua Tree National Park, to walking around snow-covered Sequoias with holes in her orthopedic shoes, to exploring the banks along the Mississippi, collecting rocks along the shores of Lake Superior...my mom never stopped exploring and celebrating life.
After an entire life of emotional and physical obstacles, her love for all living things, faith, and compassion kept her a child of life—always wanting to observe, always curious, whether it was peeking under a rock, noticing the color of a leaf, glancing to the sky, or greeting a stranger. I realize how fortunate I was to share these last handful of days with her.
Susan had no fear of death, but she clung to what strength she had left to live. Her spirituality had brought her great peace throughout her life, which really paid off when she needed a quiet mind. Despite the tubes, wires, ventilator masks, she fearlessly looked death straight in the eye, all with the same intensity as when she took her first breath. She was a true warrior of life and had the grace of a Buddha. Her quiet, silent strength was an incredible thing to witness, not just on her deathbed but throughout her life. Susan passed on March 21, 2018, the first day of spring, which is the most appropriate, given that she loved nature, plants, and new beginnings.