Lori's Thoughts
Carol
Carol was the nicest person I knew. Over the past ten years, we spent Tuesday and Thursday evenings walking. Where I had my limits, under 20 degrees was too cold and a steady drizzle was too wet or 10 o’clock was too late, Carol never turned down the opportunity for a walk, “I’ll put on an extra layer,” or I’ll take the umbrella” or “we’ll walk where it is well lit” was always her reply when I looked for a reason for an out. And in all those years of walking once around the larger park and twice around the smaller one, we talked and talked and talked and talked.
It occurred to me last week upon hearing of Carol’s passing, that she never in all those hundreds of hours of conversation, had anything negative to say of anyone. Carol had listened to me complain about bosses and daughter’s bad boyfriends, and whatever political figure was ticking me off at the moment, She heard me rant against the unfairness of the universe when l perceived things to be not going my way, but she never complained, never had a single bad word to say about the hundreds of friends and family members who provided her with endless hours of conversation, never wasted a moment on negative thoughts. Even this past summer when we were discussing the possibility of a diagnosis of lung cancer, I asked her if she was greatly relieved, when one doctor had downplayed that option.
“No,” she answered, “ I’ve been pretty philosophical about life, everyone has a time to go, and if it’s my time, well- than I have to go sometime.”
Carol shared a world with me through endless cycles around Peck Park. She loved people. In her completely non-judgmental way she passed the hours filling me in on the adventures of her family as they passed through the trials and tribulations of life. I knew how “Mom” was progressing though the challenges of Alzheimer’s, how her siblings were navigating the difficult years of raising children and dealing with elderly parents, how long it took Lowell’s family to evacuate Houston at the threat of a hurricane. And where many people would have reported these stories with the despair and anger of the inequities of such challenges, Carol never saw the Redglassvase of life as being anything but nearly full.
When I asked Carol’s family if I could speak, I realized I could spend hours talking about Carol. She shared so much material about her life.. She loved to share stories of her piano students (who I admit at one time I was one). She loved to speak of her neighbors and friends who spanned six decades. She reported of her visits to Virginia and France to catch up with friends she made as a teenager. But most of all she loved to speak of her family. To say she was proud of Bettina’s and Shawn’s accomplishments in life would be a misrepresentation of her very essence. Carol was too non-judgmental to be “proud”. Carol was constantly impressed with the enthusiasm for which every new undertaking was afforded. She was filled with admiration for each accomplishment. Carol was delighted to share her life with such interesting, intelligent, loving people.
Where so many of us spend our married lives together negotiating and discussing the attributes of buying a new car, deciding whose family to spend the next holiday with, or the disappointment of the local sport team’s losing season, Carol always spoke of a loving marriage that was filled with jazz duets, adventures in lunches in the ethnic world of Queens and hours spent discussing Harry Potter in Spanish.
But I promised to keep this relatively short, so I will share one last conversation. I no longer have any recall of the preamble, but one night Carol spoke of a conversation she had had as young women. Someone had asked what she wanted to do when she grew up. Her response was she wanted a life where she could be a loving wife, a good mother and that she wanted to spend some hours of everyday painting and playing music. And at the time we had this conversation, Carol noted that she had gotten exactly that. So today though the pain is very great, two things bring me great comfort, one is the knowledge that Carol lived the life she wanted and the other is, my life is blessed to have shared it with her. Thank you.
Carol was the nicest person I knew. Over the past ten years, we spent Tuesday and Thursday evenings walking. Where I had my limits, under 20 degrees was too cold and a steady drizzle was too wet or 10 o’clock was too late, Carol never turned down the opportunity for a walk, “I’ll put on an extra layer,” or I’ll take the umbrella” or “we’ll walk where it is well lit” was always her reply when I looked for a reason for an out. And in all those years of walking once around the larger park and twice around the smaller one, we talked and talked and talked and talked.
It occurred to me last week upon hearing of Carol’s passing, that she never in all those hundreds of hours of conversation, had anything negative to say of anyone. Carol had listened to me complain about bosses and daughter’s bad boyfriends, and whatever political figure was ticking me off at the moment, She heard me rant against the unfairness of the universe when l perceived things to be not going my way, but she never complained, never had a single bad word to say about the hundreds of friends and family members who provided her with endless hours of conversation, never wasted a moment on negative thoughts. Even this past summer when we were discussing the possibility of a diagnosis of lung cancer, I asked her if she was greatly relieved, when one doctor had downplayed that option.
“No,” she answered, “ I’ve been pretty philosophical about life, everyone has a time to go, and if it’s my time, well- than I have to go sometime.”
Carol shared a world with me through endless cycles around Peck Park. She loved people. In her completely non-judgmental way she passed the hours filling me in on the adventures of her family as they passed through the trials and tribulations of life. I knew how “Mom” was progressing though the challenges of Alzheimer’s, how her siblings were navigating the difficult years of raising children and dealing with elderly parents, how long it took Lowell’s family to evacuate Houston at the threat of a hurricane. And where many people would have reported these stories with the despair and anger of the inequities of such challenges, Carol never saw the Redglassvase of life as being anything but nearly full.
When I asked Carol’s family if I could speak, I realized I could spend hours talking about Carol. She shared so much material about her life.. She loved to share stories of her piano students (who I admit at one time I was one). She loved to speak of her neighbors and friends who spanned six decades. She reported of her visits to Virginia and France to catch up with friends she made as a teenager. But most of all she loved to speak of her family. To say she was proud of Bettina’s and Shawn’s accomplishments in life would be a misrepresentation of her very essence. Carol was too non-judgmental to be “proud”. Carol was constantly impressed with the enthusiasm for which every new undertaking was afforded. She was filled with admiration for each accomplishment. Carol was delighted to share her life with such interesting, intelligent, loving people.
Where so many of us spend our married lives together negotiating and discussing the attributes of buying a new car, deciding whose family to spend the next holiday with, or the disappointment of the local sport team’s losing season, Carol always spoke of a loving marriage that was filled with jazz duets, adventures in lunches in the ethnic world of Queens and hours spent discussing Harry Potter in Spanish.
But I promised to keep this relatively short, so I will share one last conversation. I no longer have any recall of the preamble, but one night Carol spoke of a conversation she had had as young women. Someone had asked what she wanted to do when she grew up. Her response was she wanted a life where she could be a loving wife, a good mother and that she wanted to spend some hours of everyday painting and playing music. And at the time we had this conversation, Carol noted that she had gotten exactly that. So today though the pain is very great, two things bring me great comfort, one is the knowledge that Carol lived the life she wanted and the other is, my life is blessed to have shared it with her. Thank you.
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