I Tried Not To Cry. Michael Beattie
as we slowly made the long climb uphill past the millhouses. I could see curtains being pulled back slowly as many looked out in the disbelief of seeing Mrs. Champlion escorting me. A couple of residents opened their door to say, “Good morning, Susie.” Susie waved back to them in a sort of acknowledgment that she had heard them. “Might be a bit better if they minded to their own,” she softly said to me. My grandmother was outside tending to her small garden when she noticed us approaching. She walked over to give Mrs. Champlion a big hug and a greeting. She tried to tell Susie how good she looked, but I had to interpret that to her, as she couldn’t understand my grandmother. Both my grandmother and grandfather were what people called deaf and dumb, having both lost their ability to hear and speak at a young age due to medical complications. Although they were both far from dumb, this was the stigma assigned to them. I understood them both very well as they strained their vocal chords to talk, but most people found it difficult to understand what they were trying to relate. “Going to the church,” Susie stated as she pointed to the linens. My grandmother nodded in approval as she smiled and held Susie’s hands. Susie always took a liking toward my grandparents, partially because I think she felt bad for their inability to speak or hear. In a time when the man of the house always seemed to do the errands, my grandmother never got to visit the store. “So good to see you, Caroline,” Susie stated as they still held each other’s hands. “Georgie is a good worker,” Susie claimed as my grandmother nodded, not really able to read her lips, yet still smiling and nodding as if in approval.
Mrs. Champlion was sort of respected graciously as an elder in the village by most, especially as she continued to operate the store without her husband. She was a large tough lady, yet, she had her soft moments. We continued to move slowly upward as the climb became steeper for Susie. Mrs. Lyman was on her front porch and, in disbelief, asked me, “Mikee, where are you going?” “To clean the church,” I answered, as she greeted Susie. I sort of felt a sense of importance by this time as if I was responsible for getting Mrs. Champlion out of her store. It was especially difficult for Susie to walk that distance, a sight many found hard to believe. This day may go down in the history book for Eagleville! The day that Mikee walked Mrs. Champlion to the church!
As we entered the front door to the vestibule of the small stone church, I could tell Susie was becoming short-winded as she quickly took a seat in the closest wooden pew seat available. “Put that broom to use, Georgie,” she said. “This place is a mess.” It looks okay to me, I thought silently. Sometimes I wish she would just call me by my real name! I started sweeping the entry vestibule with the corncob broom as she said, “Open the doors and get some air in here. Mercy, mercy.” After a bit, Susie got up slowly and made her way to the front altar, looking around as if she had never seen the insides of this beautiful little stone church with its stained glass windows. “Open up these windows and get some air in here,” she yelled to me. “Yes, Mrs. Champlion.” I tugged hard at the metal transom handles in a downward motion in order to facilitate the unlatching of the sectional windows, being careful not to harm the wonderful stained glass. Susie walked into the rear vestibule where the garments were hung in a small closet next to the confessional where we robed each Sunday morning and holidays. She never genuflected as she walked past the alter and looked sort of funny at me when I did. “Mind you, open the rear door.” “Yes, Mrs. Champlion.” She opened the linen drawer to inspect the linens. “Just as I thought, all wrinkled and need a good cleaning,” she exclaimed in a tone of disgust. She acted like this place would never be normal without her help. After a good cleaning of the church, she told me to close the windows and doors back up, so I did just that. “Take hold of these garments,” she said, “and mind you don’t let them touch the ground.” “Yes, Mrs. Champlion, I have a good hold on them.” We exited down the few front steps and onto the short cement sidewalk that led to the parking lot. “I want to walk around the side to look a bit,” she said as I helped her along. As we slowly made our way alongside the stone church, Susie kept looking upward in an almost serene way, as though she might be talking to someone in a silent prayer. I had a feeling that passed through me that this may be the last time Susie would get to visit this church. “Let’s get a move on. Customers probably waiting at the store,” she said in a gruff tone. I highly doubted that, as her business was slowly eroding away due to the larger chain grocery stores that had opened up in the nearby town. Although a hard lady on the exterior, I felt a sad loneliness for her as I noticed a tear make its way down her cheek. “Mind the garments!”
Susie never made that trip with me to the church ever again, although I made the weekly journey alone many times after that. She would always direct the same orders at me before I made that walk uphill, “Open the doors up and air it out good, and mind the dust. Give her a good dusting and be careful not to wrinkle the linens.” She spoke as if the church was a living object, her living object. I was the last person to ever walk Mrs. Champlion to and from that little stone church, the very place where my folks were married and I eventually got married, as did so many others in the small village. This hub of the village was where I was baptized, confirmed, and where I addressed the congregation with a eulogy for my parents’ burial service.
It was a long, tiring drive back home after that incredible day of hiking. Stopping at a McDonald’s to load up on several large iced teas to hydrate me and to help keep me awake, I drove the four hours in darkness back to my home in Connecticut. I slept like a baby after arriving home, and it took several days before I could walk normally again, but I did it. From almost down and out to being able to conquer something again! I finally felt like all the hard work I had put in was beginning to pay off. It would’ve been so easy to give in and walk with a cane, taking prescription drugs the rest of my limping days, as I’ve seen so many of my friends do through the years, most of whom are long gone because of it. I wasn’t sure how things would play out for me down the road, but I’d never give in, and yes, the surgeon was right. I’m a lucky person!
What came next turned into a most difficult period of my life, as my mother had developed Alzheimer’s, which began a slow decline of her health as did my father’s. He had many medical issues that complicated his ability to care for my mother, who at that point in time could not be left alone. I helped them move to a condo in Florida as caring for their home in Connecticut became too much for my dad. It was a slow degenerative seven-year process, watching my mother slowly fade away into another world. Toward the end of that period, my dad made my sister and I promise to not put Mom in a nursing home, as his ability to care for her slowly diminished. I’m not sure how he had the relentless courage to care for her like he did. His true love for her shone through on a daily basis as it became a constant explaining of each issue over and over again from morning till night, and then through the night again, as she would get up and wander. I installed an inside door lock which prevented her from walking outside as she had done many times prior, luckily being stopped by a neighbor, as they were all aware of her condition. My sister and I, along with my niece Shari, would rotate and fly to Florida to help care for them both as Dad was in and out of hospitals. In addition, I hired an aide to do wellness checks on them as well as light housekeeping. It was a most difficult time for us all, and I’ll always be grateful to my sister Kathy who was able to take time from work to stay with them till first my father passed, followed by my mother three weeks later. Luckily, she was able to take the time from work with no penalty, but also no pay, as she kept a watchful eye on them both. Keeping my business going and juggling these other issues was really taking a toll on my health again.
“Mom, where are you going?” I asked, as she got up out of the bed we were both trying to sleep in. “I’m going to get the mail,” she said, walking toward the door in her diapers which we had to use because of her inability to control her bowels any longer. “Mom, come back to bed. It’s midnight, and it’s time to sleep.” Her cancerous tumors were spreading throughout her body, causing so many complications in addition to the Alzheimer’s. I put her back in the bed and held her hand. “Are you okay?” she asked me. “Yes, I’m okay, Mom, are you okay?” “When will it end?” she asked. “Soon, Mom, soon.” “Okay,” she said. I could tell she’s suffering, and I wished I had the courage to end her pain. It’s killing me to watch this happen to her, and I felt so helpless. Five minutes later, she’s up and headed toward the door again. “Mom, where are you going?” “To get the mail,” she answered. “It’s not here yet, Mom. Let’s get back