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| Suise, James and Heather 1981 |
When I met Susie, forty-seven years ago, her teenager heart saw no one but my future brother-in-law, James. Her eyes followed his every move. She draped herself onto his lap, latching onto him with the purity of young devotion. She attached her life to his goals to be an Air Force pilot, never longing for anything more than the role of wife and mother. The books she read covered with Fabio’s muscled chest, contained characters she longed to imitate. Conversations with her revolved around how James would take care of her for the rest of her life.
My practical nature cringed whenever I knew Susie and I would be alone, forcing us to talk about her limited hopes and dreams that couldn’t be separated from James’s needs. I reminded myself those first few months that she would soon be a relative that I’d see frequently. We needed to find common ground, but her unplanned pregnancy, total dependency upon my in-laws for financial support, and unwillingness to even look for a part-time job, allowed me to slip into a critical judgement that I later regretted.
Wherever they lived, I wrote Susie long letters talking about my teaching slots and the authors I liked. She was open to reading new things, and soon we’d exchange books whenever they visited my in-laws. Although their first two children were older than our son by three and six years, their third child trailed ours by fifteen months. My letters, sent within packages of baby clothing and toys for the kids, included paperback novels for Susie, too. I think we both worked hard to find common ground during the first years of becoming Chapmans. When James decided to leave the Air Force, he didn’t tell Susie about his choice. Suddenly, their family of six resided with my in-laws again, where tension and tempers simmered just under boiling almost all the time. For the first time in her life, Susie stopped her unnatural worship of her husband and their relationship never returned to the adoration James needed daily.
During these troubled years, Susie and I talked often while our kids played together. When James decided to buy a home, they found one walking distance from our house. And then, four months later, he left her and their kids for an older woman. Susie’s grief mixed with anger, spilled into late night phone calls that left me with only a couple of hours of sleep before heading to work. Their brief round of counseling as a couple turned into more appointments for her, and her mantra became “He’ll wake up one day and realize he wants us back.” Instead, James distanced himself from the kids as well as Susie, often canceling out at the last minute on visits with them.
Eventually, Susie’s mother and siblings helped her go to school to be certified as a massage therapist. Having a job didn’t fill Susie’s loneliness, but it built her confidence. During these years, I’d walk over to Susie’s house to visit. Our kids drifted between the two homes on foot, riding bicycles, or on skateboards. There were sleepovers, birthday celebrations, and a lifetime bond not just between the kids, but also with Susie and me.
When she remarried, I saw her less. Her new husband came with three young adult children and an open door policy that meant a huge family gathering every Sunday. We still talked books and kids, sometimes heading for a walk around the neighborhood, but our visits became less frequent. My years as Mom’s caregiver meant Susie swung by here. She gave Mom massages, treated me out to Starbucks, and made certain I got away from the house every couple of months. We eased into a wonderful, comfortable friendship that meant weeks could pass without a call, text, or visit without feeling guilty. Whenever we connected, we’d talk about books, adult kids, ailing parents, and whatever movies she’d seen with her repeating dialogue for me. When COVID-19 took her second husband, she relied upon their children and grandchildren to work through her loss, with her next door neighbor filling her life again.
Right before Christmas, I stopped by Susie’s home while on my morning walk. We sat outside, in her back yard. We talked about kids, her grandchildren, her new beau, and the latest authors we’d discovered. We promised to get together after the holidays for lunch and a longer, more relaxed chat as I needed to finish my trek up the steepest hill in our neighborhood.
That casual promise to get together soon didn’t happen. A hemorrhagic stroke blindsided all of us, leaving Susie hospitalized with emergency surgery. Her children and siblings stayed with her, and her daughters let us know when we should visit. I chatted with her about our kids and books, and teased that she needed to recover so she could treat me to Starbucks one more time.
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| Susie and me 2015 |
Copyright 2025 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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