A childhood friend of mine lost her mom suddenly yesterday to a heart attack.  I had known Carol since I was a little girl.  I have so many fond memories of her.  I have been at sleepovers in two of her homes, eaten breakfast at both of her breakfast tables, and sat across a dinner table from her too many times to count.  She was a wise, kind, and lovely woman.  And she will be missed.

Carol was an artist, so her home always struck me as half house, half art studio.  I can still picture some of the paintings around her house: the haunting, serious self-portrait of herself as a young woman; the tall elegant lady in the billowy, checkered skirt and floppy hat; the still life with daisies.  

Carol was the first single parent I had ever met, and I remember clearly how patiently she answered the inappropriate, probing questions of a nine-year-old.  Her cat, Maude was her oldest companion until Maude died a couple years ago.  Maude seemed simply to tolerate the attentions of anyone else who tried to pet her, but with Carol she snuggled and purred as if she actually meant it.

I will never forget Carol’s voice or her laugh.  Her lovely short red hair, her silver jewelry.  She was a wonderful role model to me growing up.  Independent.  But never hard.  Tough where it counted.  She beat cancer before her youngest had graduated high school.  Before I even knew to be afraid of the word cancer, she had conquered it.  

I am sad that Carol is gone from the world.  Today the world shines a little less brightly.  Good night, Carol.