John Barry: A hospital call awakened Sue Schramek at 2:15 a.m. Eighty-year-old Hildy Werner had passed away.
Sue got up, padded through the dark house, made coffee. She couldn't stop thinking about John, Hildy's baby. He was 42 years old, had Down syndrome, was as innocent as a toddler. All John's life, his mother had brushed his teeth. They'd slept side by side in twin beds.
Now John belonged to Sue.
At 9, Sue drove to her office and called Hildy's cousin. "I can make the funeral arrangements," Sue told her.
"I'm a preacher's daughter. I do a lot of things."
The next hour, she found a minister to officiate, ordered cookies for the funeral. Then she called the cousin again to ask about John. He had been with his mother when she fell from a stroke. He had watched her disappear into intensive care.
"There's just one more thing to do," Sue told the cousin. "John doesn't know yet."
Sue looked down, listening, gripping the phone. There was a pause.
"He's very emotional right now."
Another pause. Sue's mouth tightened.
"All right, we will go talk to him."
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