I took this photo of Bridget yesterday, it’s almost one year since O’Hearn’s Pharmacy closed, taking a great chunk of community and connection with it. I get my medicine just fine from the good people at the chain pharmacy who bought O’Hearns, they are efficient and nice.
Life goes on, things change, but Bridget was very special, not really replaceable. When I think of her, I think of the day I went to her pharmacy, started by her father a half-century ago, and an elderly woman came into the pharmacy, tears streaming down her face.
Are you all right?, I asked, and the woman, her faced lined deeply with the markings of life, whispered to me, “they just told me I have cancer, the bad kind. I came her first, I’ll tell my husband later.” Bridget came down from her customary perch where the medicine was kept, and the two threw their arms around one another.
With Bridget, you never had to explain yourself or your situation. She knew. You could call her at home, and if you were laid up or old and frightened, she would come over to your house and bring your medicine. So many times, I saw poor and elderly people- often in shock at the cost of their medications – confess to Bridget that she they didn’t have enough money to pay for all of her medicine just then. I never saw one leave the pharmacy without their medication.
After my open heart surgery, I would talk to Bridget about my confusion and concerns. The doctors never had time to talk to me, they were never available. She was always available. Being a pharmacist was not a job for her, it was a calling.
“My dad needs his heart pills,” one woman told Bridget one day, “I just can’t afford to buy them all today.” She bought two or three that day, came every few days for more. Bridget always found a way.
Through all of this, people’s health issues, the revolution in health care, the rise of the arrogant health insurance companies and the greedy pharmaceuticals, and the government regulations and bureaucrats, Bridget never failed to smile that especially radiant smile. A woman of great faith, she believed in the art of the pharmacist, in serving people knowledgeable and with compassion.
She became a good friend, one of those people you always light up when you see. I was sad but gratified to take her portrait at her old station in the pharmacy, which sits empty on the edge of Main Street. It was great to see her, and she still has her smile, but she also has some sadness in her eyes. She’s going to be in my portrait show in September at the Round House Cafe, I think this is the right photograph, she was sitting above the sign she put outside when the pharmacy closed.