Suzanne Gros Giobetti

With a heart bigger than most people knew what to do with, Suzanne Giobetti lived a life defined by love, strength, and a kind of joy that refused to dim, even when life gave her every reason to let it. She was the kind of woman who could light up a room, fix a problem, and make you laugh—often all at the same time.

Suzanne was many things: loving, sharp, endlessly caring, and tougher than anyone ever gave her credit for. She had a way of making people feel seen, heard, and taken care of—whether you were family, a friend, or someone she had just met five minutes ago but had already decided needed a snack and some advice.

At the center of her world was her family. She was the devoted wife of John, whom she loved deeply and took care of with unwavering commitment. Not in a quiet, behind-the-scenes way—but in a “I’ve got this, don’t worry, and also you’re doing it wrong” kind of way that only made him love her more.

She raised her two sons, Paul and Matthew, with that same fierce love. She didn’t just raise them—she shaped them. She taught them how to be good men, how to care for others, how to show up, and how to laugh even when things got hard. She gave them the kind of foundation that stays with you for life—and probably a few well-timed reality checks along the way.

Her family grew to include her daughter-in-law Caitlin, who she loved dearly, and Buddy, the newest (and furriest) addition, who quickly learned that he had hit the jackpot.

Suzanne was full of life—truly. Even in her hardest moments, she showed a strength and spirit that left people in awe. She didn’t just endure—she lived. She laughed, she loved, she showed up, and she kept going with a kind of grace and grit that defined who she was.

If you knew her, you felt it. If you loved her, you’ll carry it forever.

Her legacy isn’t just in the family she leaves behind—it’s in the way they live, the way they love, and the way they’ll keep her spirit alive in every story, every laugh, and every moment that matters.

And if there’s one thing she’d want, it’s this: don’t be too serious, take care of each other, and for the love of God—keep going.

She will be deeply missed, endlessly loved, and never forgotten.

In lieu of flowers, the family kindly requests that donations be made to the LSU Health Foundation in support of the Gynecologic Oncology Fund. Donations can be made at the following link: https://give.lsuhealthfoundation.org/tribute

When donating, please select the “Lynn Naquin - Gynecologic Oncology Fund” and include “in loving memory of Suzanne Giobetti” to ensure your contribution is directed appropriately.

The services will be on Friday, March 27, 2026 at St. Philip Neri Church, 6500 Kawanee Ave, Metairie, LA 70003. The visitation will begin at 12:00 p.m. until the memorial mass at 1:00 p.m. The interment will be private.

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Eulogy from Paul:

Hi everyone—

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Paul… and I’m speaking today for both myself and my little brother Matthew.

And if our mom were here right now, she’d probably already be telling us to “suck it up”…

—which, to be clear, was always said with love… but also not really optional.

That was her way. She made you tougher, stronger, and better… whether you liked it at the time or not.

Our mom was the glue of this family.

And not just the kind that holds things together quietly—she was the kind that made sure everything and everyone was taken care of.

She worried about everyone else first. Always.

Even people who, if we’re being honest, probably didn’t deserve it.

But that didn’t matter to her—that’s just who she was.

She gave, and she showed up, and she loved people fully… without keeping score.

Now, if you ever texted her, you already know—

you were getting about three words… max.

But if you called her?

You might want to clear your schedule… because she was never hanging up first.

And if I called and asked, “What are you doing, troublemaker?”

she’d always say, “I’m making trouble.”

And she meant it, too.

She had this way of bringing life and humor into everything—

even into the hardest moments.

Over the past three-plus years, as she fought cancer, she never let it define her.

She didn’t want attention. She didn’t want sympathy.

Most days, she didn’t even want you to know how hard it really was.

But we knew.

We saw the tough days.

We saw the strength it took just to keep going.

And somehow… through all of it…

she kept laughing.

She kept joking.

And more than once, she made her feelings very clear by saying—

“Get this bitch out of me.”

That was our mom.

Strong, honest, a little bit feisty… and still making everyone around her smile, even when she was the one going through it.

She didn’t just endure those years—she lived them.

And that’s something I’ll always admire.

Growing up, she was everything you could ask for in a mom.

I spent years asking my parents for a sibling.

They said no… over and over again.

So naturally, I accepted that with grace and maturity—

—or at least that’s how I remember it.

Then one day, after I got back from soccer camp, they told me to sit down because they needed to talk.

And I thought—this is it… I’m in trouble… and I wasn’t even here.

But instead, they told me I was going to have a sibling.

Turns out, my mom thought she was heading into menopause…

and instead, surprise—Matthew showed up.

They decided they wanted to be surprised if it was a boy or girl…

but the doctor told me.

And I took that responsibility very seriously.

While they were out shopping, I’d go to Babies R Us and secretly stockpile all the boy stuff in my closet—clothes, toys—everything.

And that meant the world to them.

And from that moment on… Matthew was my little guy.

That’s who she was—she created a family that we’re all so proud to be part of.

She and my dad had a special kind of partnership.

She ran the show… and he knew it.

My dad handled the financials…

but she handled just about everything else that actually mattered day to day.

And together, they made sure this family was always taken care of.

She loved Caitlin like her own.

She appreciated everything about her—her energy, her honesty, the way she brought structure into my life…

which, let’s be honest, was probably a huge relief for her.

She knew I was in good hands.

And even in a short time, Buddy brought her so much comfort.

He had a way of making her smile exactly when she needed it most.

And then there was her baking.

If you had a birthday, a celebration, or honestly just existed long enough—

you were getting something homemade.

And not just anything—she’d make it your way.

Brownies with your favorite candy, your favorite filling…

she made sure it was personal.

Because that’s how she loved people—

thoughtfully, intentionally, and always putting them first.

She also looked just like her mom…

and I’m still not sure if she ever decided whether she loved that or hated it.

But I do know this—

we see her in so many ways, every single day.

In how we take care of each other.

In how we show up for people.

In how we find a way to laugh… even when things are hard.

That’s her legacy.

And if she were here right now, she wouldn’t want this to be all sadness.

She’d want us to laugh.

She’d want us to take care of each other.

And she’d definitely remind us—one more time—

to suck it up.

Mom—

we love you.

We’re going to miss you more than we can ever put into words.

And we’ll carry you with us… in everything we do.

And don’t worry—

we’ll keep making a little trouble.

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Eulogy from John

Hi everyone—

Thank you all for being here today. It truly means so much to see how many people loved Sue.

Before I get too far, I do need to say this…

I’m known for mispronouncing a word or two,

and Sue is not here today to correct me.

So if I butcher anything up here, just know this is exactly where she would usually jump in, give me a look, and fix it for me.

And honestly… I’m going to miss that.

I was lucky enough to love her for 37 years, and even luckier that she loved me right back.

We met through work, and from the very beginning, she was easy to talk to and funny in a way that just pulled you in.

But I always go back to that New Year’s Eve party—

we were the only two single people there.

From that night on, we built a life together:

37 years of caring for each other and always trying to make the other person better.

She was the better half.

I was just the other half doing my best to keep up.

Sue loved life.

She loved traveling and making memories wherever we went.

She loved Disney—especially “It’s a Small World.”

And if you’ve ever been on that ride, you know once it’s in your head, it’s there forever.

She loved Sal’s Sno-Balls—

that was one of her favorites.

And she loved baking.

Not just baking—perfecting baking.

Her brownies were her specialty,

and not just any brownies, but brownies made your way, with your favorite candy or filling.

She made sure everyone felt special.

This past Christmas was the first time she wasn’t able to do all of her baking for everyone.

And I still don’t know if that hurt her more or us.

Because that was her way of loving people.

She also had a deep faith in God.

It guided her life, especially in the hardest moments.

And her group of friends—her circle of women—meant the world to her.

They supported each other, lifted each other up, and were such an important part of her life.

At home, she was the one who kept everything together.

She made sure I was dressed properly,

fixing my collar more times than I can count.

And no matter what, I never went to bed without a goodnight kiss.

Those are the little things I’ll miss the most.

Watching her be a mother was one of the greatest gifts of my life.

She was everything to our boys.

When they fell, she picked them up, dusted them off,

and if needed, told them to “suck it up” in her own loving way.

And we have so many memories that still make us laugh.

For Paul, it was a family trip to California for his fifth birthday.

The entire trip, he kept asking,

“Where are the cows?”

And then, “Where did the cows go?”

To this day, we still don’t have a good answer for him.

And for Matthew, there was the time he told us he liked corn pizza.

From that moment on,

his brother never let him forget it.

Those are the kinds of moments that made our family what it is—

simple, funny, and full of love.

Over the last three years, I saw a strength in Sue that I don’t know if I can fully put into words.

She faced cancer with a positive attitude that never wavered.

Even after surgery, even while dealing with everything that came with it,

she kept her smile.

She kept her faith.

She kept loving all of us the same way she always had.

She didn’t complain.

She didn’t want attention.

She just kept going—with strength, grace, and a belief that she was never alone.

She loved Caitlin like the daughter she never had,

and that brought her so much peace and happiness.

And even in a short time, Buddy brought her comfort and a reason to smile when she needed it most.

Sue gave me 37 years—

37 years of love, laughter, and a family that I will always be grateful for.

I’ll be honest—

I still want her here.

But I know she’s free of pain now.

I know she’s at peace.

And I know she’s home, in the way she always believed.

And I know that one day, I’ll see her again.

Until then, I’ll be here,

taking care of our boys,

just like she would want.

Sue—

I love you.

Thank you for everything.

And I’ll carry you with me every single day.