One of the sweetest, bravest loyal compassionate people I ever met. I miss her dearly.

Carol, I mostly don't believe in God or an afterlife, but reading Danny's posts to you, I hope I'm wrong, and that he's with you.

Love to you both,

Francine

Dan has joined you, Carol. There will be no more posts from him. Instead, forever hugs.

Carol, you were only on this earth a short time. Just saying, you were truly loved by Dan. I knew him many many years, and his eyes lit up just talking about you. He misses you a lot. Thanks for being there for him. Mary

Though I’ll always regret not getting to say a final goodbye to Carol four years ago, dying in one’s sleep is as gentle and merciful as any of us can hope for.

But she left this world without the faintest idea that her worst nightmare would soon be running for president. On the fourth anniversary of her passing, one investigation into this nightmare has just ended. The nightmare itself goes on.

Carol dying in her sleep and never having to hear the words “President Trump” are my only consolation.

A poem Carol wrote while living on Summit Ave in Steubenville---
I love the vulnerability, empathy, acceptance, and playfulness.

Truly a woman for all seasons!

 
NO ROCK OF GIBRALTAR

here   simply that pebble in the pond
the moon-shaped one    reflecting
muted rays of clouded sun and lightning
        without thunder

Such a quiet listener, Yahweh.
Truthfully, I don’t think you have
         a gender.

Instead, you are a gentle spirit
flying into mahogany-mad rages
         blinking
obliterating entire civilizations
       blinkin  again.

The sweep of your hand
can spare the ailing child
       This is the claim
the claim     The Claim

While another child  dies
at a mother's dried nipples
a mother who has lost so many
       children…

She can only brush the flies
from her face as she digs
at the ground  the ground
    the bone-hungry ground.

Still, dear spirit, I forgive you
even these discrepancies
    I only wonder
if you can forgive me mine,
    forgive us all.

Not everyone can be a rock
nor should they  when by erosion
they find themselves
         a moon-pebble
or a lucky stone
         or a cold shard
wedged firmly for
         another’s passage
to the other shore.

         One last transgression—
I love the feel of wiggling toes
         shaking  jumping
as children squeal and laugh above me.
      I grant each toe
        my softest
          edge.
This then  IS   my heresy—
      no Rock of Gibraltar
        by any means.

Carol was born 62 years ago this week - February 5, 1957. Her beautiful words keep her memory in me alive. Of her many wonderful poems, “Bitter Truth” has always been one of my favorites. Just tonight I understood why. It works on more than one level. A fanciful story about rebels on the run could also have the deeper meaning of a constant battle going on between the love bond between us and the many and various seen and unseen forces fighting to destroy that bond. I like to think, despite everything, Carol left this world with “OUR CAUSE clinging to her lips.”
    
      BITTER TRUTH

February marched right past us
left us frozen on the foot-soldiers’ cliffs
Hungry, we found the strength to rise
scour mountains lost in time

You sang of Tibetan mystery
I chanted ancient words
until my lips fell numb

Still our pupils slid one over the other
our telescopic bodies peeping through the eyes
of branch space

It felt right, so we let go
sank into the folds of bark-skin
its old anchors drawing our mouths low and mean

we could have gone for props
cigarettes dangling from our lips
it would have looked good

but we wanted something more
We said, “Let them come for us now.”
They did, slammed angry gun butts
at foot tracks that once were us

Later, that night, our fingers
raked the snow for ice chips.
Bullets rang. Our eyes went milky.
while our cause  clung to our lips.


Carol Crawford, Toronto OH (1992)

CELEBRATION

It is a simple celebration,
 and only...a feeling.

It is morning light slipping
 past curtains,
 waking me softly to
the warmth of sun.

It is that first cup of
 coffee, my favorite
 pajamas, and the songs
of birds welcoming spring.

It is a quiet moment, where
 I can rest before the roar
 of traffic begins.

It is a brand new day,
 so squeaky clean that I
 have barely begun to
 write it.

And it is something more
 than any of that.
It’s being so full of life
 that you BURST out of your
 self, and find your head
 is bowed.

BECAUSE when you thank God

 It is a simple celebration, and
 it’s THE FEELING OF IT
 that COUNTS.


Carol Denise Whaley, Hammondsville OH (ca 1986)

     FIRST CUP OF HEARTS
      
      Watching the sun rise
         across clouds —
      I am struck in the
          simple beauty
      of the day. Each ray
          of light
      cleanes the worries of
          the night
      before. I pause, alert
          to silence…
      a sense of emptiness
          and fullness
      both. He calls to see
          if I’m
      awake. I am re-
           connected
      by love and the sun is
           a full
       moon...contoured to a
           cup of
           coffe
                       Carol D Crawford, Toronto OH, 1989

Love is easy
When death and illness are on holiday.

To love and be loved is a piece of cake
When everyone’s laughing and dancing
And having the time of their lives.

How hard is it to be decent and caring and kind
When everything’s going right, according to plan,
Just as you dreamt it?

Good things happen to good people all the time, you know,

Until they don’t.

Not long after Carol and I met, probably sometime in 1988, her long-time friend Mary Jane (“MJ”) became gravely ill. Carol’s love and deep sense of helplessness and sorrow are evident in the following poem written for MJ.


      AMONG THE WILD FLOWERS

      Yesterday, death bellowed
         like a foghorn,
       lonely for an audience.
         It reached for my eyes
       like a lighthouse to
         a wayward ship.
       It strained for my ears
     like a midnight howling
       that couldn't help
         tumbling over itself,
       endlessly. It carried
         a friend's name like
       a torch in the night,
         blinding me with its
       hunger that gnashed
         her precious cells into
       limited hours and
         minutes.

       Yet, today –
         life called me like
       a half-written song.
         It was there on
        my lips. It was
         there in my heart.
        It was there in my
         soul, the unfinished
        lyrics no one could write
          but me. It was there
        in a fancy resort lodge
          in Glouster, Ohio
        a postcard image
          of sun and lake and forests
        swollen into real-life experience,
          swollen like the hunger
        of my lover as we rolled
           life and joy like a tide between
         us, across an ocean made of motel-
           room blankets.

         It was there
           in the hunger of my belly
         after the tide subsided.
           It was there in the longing
         for sustenance, for food, to
           replenish the energy I
         had convulsively spent with
           him freely. It was there in
         the urge to write this poem
           afterwards. It was there
         in the way I realized there
           was still an afterwards for me,
        or the way there wasn't, but I
           had delusions of nonetheless.

        It was there in one happy
          second of forgetfulness where
       I moved as intuitively as a note
          to a tune. It was there as
       I attached myself to a
          bar of music I was meant to
       sing, the lyrics I was meant
          to write. It was there in
       one golden moment of identity
          when I forgot to remember –
       life was steadily ticking
          out of my friend's grasp, steadily
       ticking into some other hour – I
          was not yet meant to imagine.

                   Carol Crawford, Toronto OH
             


  

     

         

It was night.
Half the world was sleeping.
You left.
Everything went black.

A poem written by Carol before I met her-

      1957 TO ?

I have lived in the
  DAWN OF ME…

Shimmered morning dew
  thoughts of tranquility.

I have lived in the
  HIGH NOON OF ME…

and burned as brightly
  as the earth star itself!

I have lived in the
  TWILIGHT OF ME…

faltering steps twisted
  from identity.

I have lived in the
  NIGHT OF ME…

the empty terror of
  a naked soul.

I have lived through the
  DAYS,
  THE WEEKS,
  THE SEASONS

OF ME, BUT STUBBORNLY CLUNG
TO LIFE.

‘Though I have been led to my
  own tombstone,
  I guarantee…

It shall WORK to CLAIM MY NAME!

       -Carol D. Crawford, Hammondsville OH

Happy Mother’s Day, Carol.

Wish things had been different and we could have had a biological child of our own - together. You were a great mother to our son, Charlie, and you had wonderful maternalistic qualities that shown through in the way you cared for, protected, and advocated for those you loved, especially those in your extended family.

Giving birth to a child of your own was just one of many basic opportunities denied you in your short, tragic, heroic life.

As the years pass, I realize more and more how deep my love for you was, is, and always will be.

I realize, too, how you could truly love me and still experience strong, intentionless feelings for your first husband. Love reminds us of love that came before.

I’m sorry you had to die for me to understand that.

And I’m sorry you had to die for me to understand what it’s like to lose someone you truly love. I know now how it felt for you to lose your sister.

Rest In Peace, sweetheart. God knows you didn’t get near your share in life.

Carol, when the light in your eyes went out, it was the most shocking, unreal, soul-wrenching thing I had ever witnessed. All my worst fears came true in that instant. Everything I had been living for gone forever. Never again to hear your laughter. Never again to experience your kindness, your wisdom, your love. Never again to kiss you goodnight or hear you say, “I love you.”

I went to a grief counselor and tried to heal. And I needed to get away from Steubenville - a town to which we both had strong ties and deep disappointments.

Our dream had been to sell our house and get the hell out of that area. When you died, there was nothing left to hold me.

Less than a year after you passed, I sorted through everything we had accumulated over all those years, threw away a lot, gave away a lot, put some in storage, and took the rest to a new life in Austin Texas where, as you know, my sister Francine has lived for decades.

But that’s all about me. The world lost a beautiful, giving soul with your passing. And I know, even with the health problems that plagued you and the personal and professional losses you suffered, you still loved life, and we had every hope of growing old(er) together.

Right now I’m looking forward to visiting your grave again at Sugar Grove, sometime in the next few months when I get back to Steubenville.

Austin is a crowded place. You would have loved it here. Sometimes I just take Tribble (and her new sister, Tizzie) to a secluded little forest area where I can feel your presence and talk with you.

Regrets, apologies, devotion and tears. You’re in my dreams often and I miss you every day. Until we meet again, my angel, Rest In Peace.

You would be 61 today, Carol. I miss you so much. Tribble, at 8 and a half, is as affectionate and vivacious as ever. Her love is my link to you.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how our relationship changed over 29 years, and I really am sorry things didn't work out better for us. The perfect love we started with couldn't last forever. But my love for you grew deeper with every passing day. You were the center of my life. Still I wish I’d been kinder when things got hard.

I pray you are in a place of peace now surrounded by friends and loved ones. And I look forward to being in your presence again. You are unique and irreplaceable, Carol. I always loved you and always will!

On Carol’s behalf: #MeToo

Carol was my Wonder Woman. When we first met, she believed - and I believed - she could accomplish anything she set her mind to. And for many years it appeared she would attain her dreams.

Looking back now, I think two main obstacles held her back. The first was the scars left by cruelty at the hands of insecure males earlier in her life. PTSD plagued her for the rest of her days. I was so proud of her for working at the A.L.I.V.E. women’s shelter and for counseling young males who had abused their female partners, despite the stress involved.

The other obstacle was seizure disorder. We finally achieved reasonable control, but not before countless falls and hundreds of seizures over decades.

These two obstacles came together in a horrifying way as Carol struggled - despite uncontrolled seizures - to try to finish her college education, the key to her dreams. Instead of assisting her, school officials urged her to quit. She responded by writing a proposal for an elevator to be installed in a classroom building to bring it into compliance with the A.D.A. (Americans With Disabilities Act).

Despite seizures, poverty, and lung problems, Carol persisted and did well. Finally, things really went haywire when she was sexually harassed by someone associated with her school. To compound the problem, her advising professor, rather than coming to her defense, sexually harassed her as well.

Carol fought and fought. Although the struggle took a tremendous toll on her health, she was determined to get justice. She never received her graduate degree and never became a licensed counselor, but she did realize some success through the justice system. And she was taking a stand for all women, for which I am immensely proud.

Like many of us, Carol had to compromise. Every time she did, I compromised with her. Until her last breath, she was my Wonder Woman.

We met in August of 1987. In May of 1970, we traveled to Kent OH for the 20-year remembrance ceremonies for the Kent State shootings. We both read our poems there. The audience loved this one of Carol’s.


ATONEMENT FOR EVE

IF YOU CAN:

Melt me,

  Run me like
    mercury through
     your thick, red
        blood.

Breathe me,
   
  and gasp the
    open
      molecules
        of air.

Clutch me.

   Grope the
     rib I stole,
      and
       pull me

Into you,

   dissolving,
    resolving which
     of whom of us
      went where?

IF YOU CAN’T:

Find
    your
       own
          apple.

Mine is long gone.


After the reading, we visited the spot where the shootings had occurred 20 years earlier. It was a beautiful day filled with daffodils. As we stopped for a minute, I noticed Carol turning her head slightly as if trying to better hear a distant sound. Moments later she was on the ground convulsing. She was taken by ambulance to the Ravenna hospital. I think it was just her second seizure. I had hoped her first one was just a fluke. Anyway, a preview of things to come.

Rest In Peace, Carol. With eternal admiration and love, Dan.

As the days grow shorter and the nights colder, I’ve been seeing you, Carol, more and more in my dreams. Last night we were on a cruise - with a bunch of other people. Our beds were in the same big room, but not directly next to each other. Someone we both know was between us.

You passed me a phone to look at pictures of cute little black puppies. Then I came over by your bed and saw chocolate cake and pudding all over the carpet. I said, “Why didn't you put a towel down before eating?” It made you real nervous. After calming down, you said, “This is our anniversary.” Suddenly realizing you were dying, I was overcome with a sadness unlike any I’d ever known.

I woke up with a deeper appreciation for the love we shared, and no longer so regretful I didn't get to say a final “goodbye”. Knowing you were “going to die” was truly unbearable.

It must be, after all, why we told each other “I love you” so many times every day we were together. I still find myself saying it.

True Love

Before meeting you, Carol, I often thought I’d never find my soul mate. I was wrong. Your love changed my life.

As much as I miss your smile, your laugh, your friendship and kindness, nothing makes me sadder than knowing you will never write another song or poem. Your imagination and way with words amazed me. You were a true artist and poet. I miss your creative genius and the sweet beautiful woman that conjured up magical sounds and words of protest, prayer, and celebration. Long Live Carol, my Warrior Princess who feared nothing and always fought for fairness and truth. You left too soon, Carol, but you left the world a better place than you found it, and made me a better man for having journeyed with me during the best years of my life. I pray you’ve found the peace you so justly deserve.

More than I worry about being with you in the afterlife, Carol, I worry that you won't realize how much I loved you every day I knew you.

I think now how I should have gotten somebody in to care for you part of the time - for both our sakes. We lost our support groups and needed all our emotional support from each other. I would get frustrated and your feelings would get hurt.

I thought I would have years to make it up to you - for the times I made you cry. I dreamed of getting you more healthy and of us moving to a better place.

Plus I got careless. I should have slept beside your bed the night you came home from the hospital and died. At least I should have checked on you during the night. But so many time sleep was the solution to your medical problems - like seizures. I was always very good at letting you rest. I allowed the hospital to convince me that your surgery had gone fine and there was nothing to worry about.

I miss you. There’s no one like you. I love you.

ON REALIZING IT'S THE 30th ANNIVERSARY OF THE SUMMER YOU AND I MET AND FELL IN LOVE

I miss the old house
with you sleeping peacefully
in the next room
the room you loved
with clothes bulging out of drawers
and closets

I miss our tiny kitchen
where you made omelettes
and Chinese chicken
and I made potato pancakes
and strawberry smoothies

I miss our tiny bathroom
where I helped you wash your hair
and poured on lots of conditioner
and (when you were done)
covered your slight, shivering body
with towels and a robe

I miss our living room
where we shared so much
great sci-fi together
you in your reclining chair
me close by on the couch
reading entire novels to you
from my first iPad, and
watching every Star-Trek ever made
many times over

I miss the little bedside table
holding your essentials
I miss all the beautiful things
you collected but we didn't have room for
and the closet full of medicines
blood pressure monitor
blood oxygen monitor
breathing machine

I miss the cubby hole
where I tried to store everything
of importance: pictures, bills,
medical records, our poetry

I miss our little fenced-in front yard
where Tribble would go out to pee
but would have to be quickly brought
back in again for attention barking

I miss the sloping back yard where
I could get a tan mowing the lawn
and tending the flowers

I miss the woods where Tribble
and Ziggy loved to wander

I miss the unfinished basement

I miss what it meant
to be part of your life

my empty heart aches
for a whisper
of your breath -

for the never-ending music
of your laughter -

for the sweet delicate curves
of your imagination -

for the child-like innocence
of your dreams -

----------------

You changed my world forever, Carol.

I miss you more than words can tell.

Today's a Holy Day for me, Carol. Sixty years ago today you came screaming, innocent, wide-eyed and curious into the world. And changed it for the better - with your unique blend of kindness and wise, caring counsel. With your fierce dedication to those you love. With your courage and determination to fight for what's right no matter the odds. With your unique and hauntingly beautiful poetic voice and vision.

You are my hero, my teacher, my guru, my warrior princess, my silly girl, my one-and-only, my soul mate, my sex goddess, my muse, the mother of my son and of my resurrection, Tribble's eternal fountain of happiness, my eternal fountain of happiness, my reason for rising each morning, my better half, the icing on my cake, reflecting everything that's good and hopeful about the world.

On this day of celebrating your life, I'm focusing on the wonders of who you are and what makes you you. I'm so thankful our paths crossed all those years ago when we knew, right away without a shred of doubt, we were meant for each other.

I so wish I had videotaped you reading your poetry and singing songs you created on the guitar (without knowing a single chord - you played as you lived "Outside the Box" ! : ). In our days of "wine coolers & roses" we were magical. Everything we touched turned to love. Everything we said and did inspired laughter, creativity, and happiness in each other.

I didn't need Caribbean cruises to "make good memories". The early days of our love secured those - enough to last a lifetime and beyond.

Happy Birthday, my princess, forever smiling in my heart.

BEST DREAM EVER

Someone's at the door wanting something, and there's a kid with no diapers. Outside a man with a stern face is looking down at me from a balcony three or four stories up. Someone says my forehead feels hot, but she must be thinking of someone else.

I go outside and walk a few steps down a dirt path, and when I glance back I see the most beautiful sight - Carol standing on the back porch smiling her big happy radiant smile at me. I run to her and give her the biggest, tightest, most wonderful hug ever!

There's a beautiful musical tone playing, ringing out triumphantly, unchanging at first. Then gradually the tone gets higher and higher.

I don't want this hug, this rendezvous with love to end. It is so perfect and so sublime. It can only end in sadness, as it does when I wake up. Disappointed, but also rejuvenated and reinvigorated by the night visitor I miss so much every day.

   --Dan Pilkington

A short, sweet remembrance of Carol


ALL THE GOOD TIMES -

    are timelessly

      eternally

  etched in my soul

   -Dan Pilkington

THE BLACK-GLOVED HAND OF DARKNESS WRESTLES
        STARLIGHT FROM MY EYES

Look how it pulls me under

   a canopy of midnight velvet --

ripples subconscious tremors

   into swirling quakes

like the current of the mighty Styx.


And this borderland

   between the fluid and the fixed

is where I both march and swim

   to the dizzy sway

of pounding rhythm, crazy cadence

   called

heart rate spun arrhythmic.


The eyes snap open like Venetian blinds

   startling me with deluge of light --

light, blessed light.

   His hands unfold from silent prayers.

His fingers clasp mine and I am back

   delivered by faith airborne

on wings of love daring Heaven's flight.

   And we are both pods

of frankincense, fragrant

   without the ritual burning.


      --Carol Dee Crawford
           June, 1995

Open letter to my one true love, on remembering some of the happiest times of my life..


Laughing at Tribble's early morning exuberance at seeing her Mommy has woken up and is coming down the stairs.

You making funny faces for me at Olive Garden.

Singing Dylan songs together.

Tennis, tanning booth, and oo-la-la!

Enjoying Josh's visits when he first started coming over.

Our times at the wave pool.

Buying our VW Passat together.

The hundreds of love letters and notes we wrote each other in the early days.

The James Wright Poetry festivals we loved so much.

Our road trip to NYC in '87.

Your collaboration with the First Lady of Pittsburgh women poets , Sue Saniel Elkind.

The beautiful songs you wrote.

The wonderful poetry you wrote.

Your kind and loving heart.

Finding a slice of pizza in your purse on the way to Charleen's in Akron : ) My mom couldn't stop laughing!

Our times at Burr Oak Resort.

The time we took Charlie camping.

The time you cooled me off while camping with a sponge bath.

Your immense generosity.

That blizzard in March one year when you prepared a delicious feast for me at your house on Summit and I trudged through snow drifts on foot all the way over from Arlington Ave to join you.

Our first date at the release party for 5 A.M.

You were beyond beautiful with a flower in your long, blonde hair.

All those times you danced for me.

Our dress-up fancy dining experiences on our cruises.

Snorkeling in the Cayman Islands - with and without the stingrays.

Climbing the giant waterfall together in Jamaica.

Eating all the food we wanted on the cruise ships.

Seeing you enjoy yourself shopping.

Buying little gifts for you at Wal-Mart.

Your happiness at opening gifts at Christmas and other special occasions.

How you started to like our house and your room with the improvements we were making.

How you loved your new big TV.

I loved reading all those sci-fy stories to you from my little iPad.

Buying tons of Star-Trek books for you back when you were still reading books for yourself.

Recording Star-Trek episodes and bringing them to your place to watch (back when we both had VCRs).

How we used to cuddle.

How I used to give you long, sensual massages.

Scented KY lotion, our red ceiling light, and "Dead Man's Party" by Oingo Boingo.

Watching Saturday morning to see if our poems were published in the Herald-Star.

You cooking egg-white omelettes for us on Sunday morning while we listened to Elton John's first album.

The joy on your face when you first laid eyes on Tribble : )

Our hikes in the Pennsylvania forests that changed my life forever.

The wonderful stories you told of your backpacking experiences - rattlesnakes, Ospreys, and Grizzlies!

I was so proud of your work as a reporter and poetry editor for the East Liverpool newspaper.

The time you told Sue Elkind at the Squirrel Hill Poetry Workshop it was 90 degrees outside and you were keeping your drink no matter what
the library rules said!

The time Sue remarked about one of your beautiful nature poems, "Peristalsis? That's a bowel movement!"

Most of all I miss the security of having you in my life - as life partner, as soul mate - so we could always be there to help each other through any problem or difficulty, no matter how big or small.

I miss your touch, your voice, your smile, your laughter. I miss EVERYTHING about you!!

I miss telling you and hearing you tell me so many times every day, "I love you."

We said it so often, we sometimes accidenly said it at the same time which made us laugh.

Things weren't always perfect. We had disagreements and arguments. But we rarely if ever went to bed mad at each other. I always worried about too much stree and worry could cause seizures for you.

"I love you!" was shorthand for our pledge to each other:

           "To pray every day
        For the God who sent you here to me
          To always be there for you."

I'm still praying, sweetheart : )

Another open letter to my sweet wife:

Many years ago, I wrote a love poem for you in which I made a promise. Not the best poem I ever wrote, technically, but undoubtedly the most important I will ever write. The poem was called "Promissory Note" ending with these all important lines:
                 I promise every day to pray
                 For the God who sent you here to me
                 To always be there for you.

I believe, in death, as in life, Carol, you are with God. Now I pray the God who sent you here to me, then took you back, will let you and me rejoin someday in the spiritual world.

I will continue to pray for God to be with you, and for me to join in too when the time is right. I wish you peace, joy, happiness and love! XOXO

Open letter to my true love, August 30, 2016:

I'm lying on a hospital bed this morning in Texas, Carol. Nothing serious, but something pretty new to me. A delay in the OR and suddenly I'm alone behind a plastic curtain with an IV at the ready down at the foot of the bed. So, of course, Carol, I think of you. All those hours you spent alone in hospital rooms. All those medical problems almost too numerous to keep track of. I let the memories of our journey wash over me, bringing tears to my eyes over and over and over again. You suffered and endured so much. And yet you always kept that beautiful sense of humor and that kind and loving heart open to all.

We didn't have parties, we didn't entertain or go out much, but we always made the best of what we had. I'm not ashamed to say some of my favorite memories with you involve trips to doctors' offices. We liked stopping at Dairy Queen on the way back from seeing Dr Kaza in East Liverpool. I always carried your drink in one hand and your pillow in the other going into offices. How I miss caring for you! And how about that time I took Tribble in to see your friend in Kaza's office and she got down and started running through the place and Dr Kaza just looked on perplexed : )

I don't ever want to forget the times we had together. We had a rich history of love, laughter, intellectual exchange, and family challenges. I regret some things I did and said, but have no regrets at all about having dedicated my life to you. I just wish we could be together again. Early on, when the grief was nearly unbearable, it almost served in a strange way as a stand-in for you. As time drags on, the memories are sweet as ever, but I miss you more each day.

Hoping at least a few of the prophets and visionaries were right about an afterlife, so we can be together again. Once a person has known true love and lost it, the world is a sad and lonely place. Rest in peace, sweetheart.

It's been too hot here in Texas, Carol. The dogs and I stay indoors during most of the scorching hot days. We get out early for a nice walk and maybe a little splashing around in a creek, and then back inside till it starts to cool down in the evening.

Some women who congregate across the street to smoke a cigarette or to stop off and chat on their way walking their dogs, give Tribble and Tizzie a treat about every day. Tribble really looks forward to seeing Gloria especially. She's an 83-year-old Hispanic woman who gives Tribble lots of love. Tribble has learned to climb up on their picnic table and go from one person to the next asking for each person to give her a back rub. Everyone loves her and she knows it : )

A couple weeks back she started limping on her front right leg. Got her to the vet right away, got x-rays. No broken bones. Just sprained muscles. Had to take some medicine for pain and to slow her down and had to rest for 2 weeks. That was kind of hard, but we managed it. All better now.

It always makes me happy the next morning when I see you in my dreams, and then a little sad realizing it was JUST a dream.

I felt more connected to you when your friend, Sandy, and I were staying in contact, because she knows you and loves you for yourself as I do. She also kept me in line in terms of believing in the afterlife and all that promises us.

I believe in you and the near-death experiences you told me about more than "the truth" some supposed prophets spread around the deserts thousands of years ago.

You believe and I believe in you. In your fundamental goodness. I hope you see me in the same way. There were so many little things I could have done better. I hope you know I see you as my soul mate and hope you see me as yours.

There's never a day, Carol, when I don't think of you and miss you. Sunday is the one day each week I try to set some time aside to really honor your memory and grieve wholeheartedly.
   When you died in your bed that cursed Monday morning, I felt my life was truly over. You had been MY PURPOSE for living for so long, I didn't know how to go on living. I knew your second story bedroom window wasn't high enough off the ground to afford me the opportunity to join you immediately in death AND furthermore I had responsibilities: 1) to officially honor your memory as the wonderful person you were and are, and 2) to be there for our "daughter" Tribble who we both love so much.
   We had a beautiful service for you. Even played "Unfinished Life" by Kate Wolfe at the end. And Tribble is doing well, going to be 7 in September. So, for now, we're good. Just the dogs and me here. We have my sister, Francine, closeby. Charlie's coming to visit after Thankgiving. It's the dogs, Francine, and friends here where we live who also have dogs that keep me going.
   I'm not interested in having a romantic relationship. Too old. Just want to see my one true love again when this life's over, whenever and however that comes.

The memories are sweet as ever, Carol,

  ...but, as time passes, I feel more and more apart from you. In the early days, I was convinced by the power of my grief that you could hear me - that you were with Tribble and me in our long walks in the forest. Here in Austin, it's hard to find a forest to walk in. But there is one place I found that has a nice trail through a few acres of tall, slender trees. The dogs love it. And I always think of nothing but you (and taking pictures) when I'm there.

  Today it occurred to me that if there is an afterlife, and if that afterlife is anything like what we've been taught, then you have no reason to obsess over me. All your pain and struggles are gone. You are in the company of many departed loved ones - friends and relatives. No wonder we have spiritualists here to "dial in" to people on the other side : ) You're busy.

  Until you died, I didn't care one way or another about an afterlife. Now, for both our sakes, I hope there is one. And because of that hope, I must believe you are either, at best, alive on the other side, or, at worst, your wonderful, unique spirit lives on in the memory of those who love you.

  Sandy has told me this over and over, but just today in our walk in the woods with the tall, skinny trees did I come to realize you are, either way, okay.

  It wasn't the ending we planned or wanted, but it's okay. My love for you will never stop until I die, and if there is an afterlife, will truly go on forever.

Love this poet and this love poem.


Don't Go Far Off

Don't go far off, even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here dying?

  -Pablo Neruda

Another of Carol's poems. This one from 1989.

DRUNK DRIVING

O how I laughed
  as we danced
slippery drunk--
  the crater of
black beyond midnight
  held our names.
then one of us cried,
  wept tears of
blood, and the man
  in the moon
gazed on, sleepy-eyed
  and cool, cool,
alley-cat cool and then
  you were gone.

I tried to ring you at
  the beach-house
condo where we used to
  skinny-dip
in the pool together.
  No answer,
no answer... I nearly
  forgot
that night at the crater.
  Dawn finds my
fingers tracing concrete
  etchings-- you have
a new number now forever.

  -Carol D. Crawford

Sometimes when I’m half awake and sometimes in dreams I hear Carol call my name. Carol says "Dan" like no one before or since. It carries a train load of promises, expectations, memories, disappointments, and the knowledge that my ear is always listening for her, always ready to try to make things a little better for my better half. I’ll carry the beautiful sound of her sweet voice to the end of my days.

Found a poem Carol wrote while living on N. 4th Street in Toronto - after leaving Jeff and before meeting me. The indomitable spirit I fell in love with : )

What The Linen-Peach Whispers

The old green walls peekin' through
   the linen-peach paint
remind me of my life.
   The grease-stained green
shows only at the edges, the untrimmed
    part starin' hard into my eyes.
O yes, I hear it calling me -- that old
    garish green, saying,

        "You ain't nuthin.
         You ain't no one, bitch,
         but come fer a taste of
         this fist. Then, you'll
         be sumpthin, all right."

God, how I hated those fists and that
    awful creepy feelin' of being
nuthin' swallowing me like the mouth
    of night...
The linen-peach, on the other hand, tells
    me I'm beautiful -- not too
brazen or too soft, but just the right
    shade -- a shade whose fibers
dance exotically like art.

        O God, I want to be
        a dance of art, but
        the green's still
        there -- just at the
        edges where I fall
        and -- heart firing
        like a shotgun, I cry.

I scream, but no one hears me. No one
    ever really hears me...
Please God, don't let him hurt me today.
    Make the pain stop.

        "And you ain't
        nuthin' and you
        ain't nuthin' and..."

I am sumpthin! I AM The old ways
    the new ways,
on which days come which? I don't know,
    anymore.

Forward and backward, I yo-yo until
    I can see my way clear
to the linen-peach. But I can't get
    rid of the green
if I don't take the time to trim
    old edges.
I want to move on to the new me,
    not too brazen
or too soft, but just right.

        I've earned my new
        colors. I've earned
        them and it isn't
        logical or sensible
        in any way that I've
        chosen this moment
        to display them...

Beauty serves no logic, but rather,
    graces it,
transcends even as I transcend the
    garish, nightmare
green. I need to feel the hearthen
    hue of a fireplace
glowin', heat warmin' the shivers,
    and knowin'
it's a good piece of ground I chose
    to build on.

       This time, it won't
       fall in because this
       time I'll seal those
       green edges for good.
       I am beautiful. I am
       worthy. I am sumpthin'
       and I deserve to wear
       my colors I've worked
       so hard for.

That's what the linen-peach whispers
    and it helps me stare
hard back into the green edges
    of a sick man's abuse -- into a future
where the old times
    don't hurt like they used to. I know
the value of myself now
    and I dance exotically like art, see?

       I'm just the right
       shade, not too brazen,
       not too soft...and
       there isn't any green
       edge ever going to
       stand in my way again!

       -Carol D. Crawford

Heard a song on the radio today that reminded me so much of my sweet and wonderful Carol : )

(lyrics by Bill Monroe)

BODY AND SOUL

See that train coming round the bend,
Carrying the one that I love
Her beautiful body is still here on earth,
But her soul has been called up above.

  Body and Soul, Body and Soul
  That's how she loved me, with Body and Soul

Her beautiful hair was the purest of gold,
Her eyes were as blue as the sea,
Her lips were the color of summer's red rose,
And she promised she would always love me

Tomorrow as the sun sinks low
The shadows will cover her face
As her last sun goes down, she's laid beneath the ground
And my teardrops are falling like rain.

A poem Carol wrote before I met her - for her uncle..

UNCLE ROLAND

He was a second father, an uncle,
a playmate...
He was a ride on the back of a
motorcycle,
the thrill of the wind slapping
your face,
the laughter that echoed from a
summer day's ride.

He was a trip to the local doughnut
shop,
the eyes that watched as mine fell
eagerly upon
chocolate-covered, lemon-filled, and
maple-nut
doughnuts, and he was...the sweetness
of them all.

He was Chiller Theater late at night,
the jokester
that made you chuckle even as you were
being frightened
by giant Japanese monsters...

He was that country guitar player that
made you
want to tap your feet,
and that melodic
song-filled
voice that made you want to listen!

He was a second father, an uncle,
a playmate...
and it was the child in him which never
died
that kept the child in me alive!

             With Love,
             Carol

Found another poem Carol & I wrote together (in December '91) just fooling around:

DINING AT ELBY'S - THE BIG BOY

Dishes clink and shuffle
  in a room we don't see

Everyone not eating
  has something to say--

Some fat guy, white hair--
  yelling out the details
    of his operation

Waitresses fly by
  dressed like Santa's elves

It's high-class eatin'
  for high-class folk

Except the woman
  across the aisle
   who eats like a pig

Not everyone can have our
  style, our superior wit

Not everyone refuses meat
  Not everyone has our taste!

-–------------------------------------------

In the margin of the paper Carol wrote-
  Q: "How do you know when 2 poets are close?"
  A: "When their poems sleep together in the same book."

Sweet Memories with Carol - Finding the Good in People -

--Sharing all my poetry with Carol, which is the same as completely opening up my life, scars and all, to her - unlike I’d done before with anyone - and feeling unconditional acceptance. Even felt comfortable sharing with her a bunch of “crappy" old (experimental) poems no one had seen before. Something I always loved about Carol was she could always find the “good” in everything. An attractive woman was “gorgeous". An ordinary woman was “beautiful". Anything I ever shared with her she found something positive in. This isn't to say she didn't have the ability to be critical. Carol’s insight and intelligence never ceased to amaze me. I loved that about her. But I also loved her tendency to see the good in people - to see their value. I never heard her say a negative word about anything I ever wrote or played on guitar. I guess that’s what love is - appreciating the art (or anything really associated with a person) because that thing's been created by the person you truly and deeply love. I felt the same way about her poetry and songs. I loved the poet so much I couldn't help but love something about each and every creative thing she did.

--Early on in our relationship we wrote lots of love notes back and forth. Being on different schedules, we rarely went to bed at the same time. So, I would wake up to a note and I’d leave one for her. I still have hundreds of them. We were genuinely infatuated with each other. The happiest time of my life. I was working. Carol was in college. My son was in junior high. We had a buff-colored cocker spaniel named Chloe and a little black mongrel named Max. Carol never forgot about the time she returned from the upstairs bathroom to find Max had gotten up on the couch and scarfed down the cheeseburger she was so looking forward to eating.

-to be continued

Sweet Memories with Carol - First Dates -

--First date to launch party for poetry journal 5AM at City Lights Bookstore on Pittsburgh's South Side. Carol was stunningly beautiful. I thought the flower in her hair was a bit much, but she looked spectacular! Other than the rudeness of Michael Wurster, we had a perfect evening (in hindsight, I should’ve bought TWO copies of the magazine).

--Our trip together to NYC in my Chevette to visit my sister Fran & her boyfriend, Patrick, in the fall of 1987. During the long drive across Pennsylvania, Carol told me everything about her life and her family and then said, "Ok, your turn. What’s your story?” I said I didn't have one. She said, “everyone has a story.” Her story was amazing, terrifying, inspirational, and funny. She'd been through so much as a child and as a young wife. Nearly broken by it all, she always came back stronger and more determined, prompting her mom to call her the Jack-in-the-box. She was going to transcend victim-hood to make something truly amazing of her life.

-to be continued

I have started to write down all the good memories I have of Carol, and will begin sharing some of them here.

For now, I just want to a share a very short poem by a poet I know Carol liked. It's related to something I've been thinking about a lot today. Where does the spirit - everything that made them who they were to us - where does the spirit go?

While still in the cage of your being
behold the spirit bird before it flies away.

   -Rumi

for Jane
by Charlie Bukowski

225 days under grass
and you know more than I.

they have long taken your blood,
you are a dry stick in a basket.

is this how it works?

in this room
the hours of love
still make shadows.

when you left
you took almost
everything.

I kneel in the nights
before tigers
that will not let me be.

what you were
will not happen again.

the tigers have found me
and I do not care.

I love you, Carol, more now than ever. Tribble, our daughter, is doing fine. Everyone loves her. People are always surprised to learn she's over seven years old. She still has the playful exuberance of a puppy. We take a lot of long walks together in local parks. She's fun to be with when she's exploring the trails. She's having a good life. I'm just taking things one day at a time. Working on my photography and guitar playing to keep busy. 

I'm so sorry you had some type of medical emergency with me just in the next room. Don't know if your crisis occurred while I was sleeping, or while I was going to McDonald's and walking the dogs. The question has haunted me every day since you died.

I thought they released you from the hospital too soon, but once they brought it up with you, I knew you would want to leave as soon as possible.

I don't know what went wrong. Don't know whose fault it was. Didn't want doctors tearing into your body for an autopsy for cause of death, because it wouldn't bring you back and I knew you wanted your body intact for the afterlife. The coroner I spoke with said there probably would not have been a definite cause of death - more like "possible blood clot".

It's been the saddest year of my life, Carol. Sometimes I have a good day walking with Tribble on a spring day under a blue sky. Then I wish the two of us could both be here in Austin to enjoy a beautiful day together. I'll never be as happy as we were back in the early days when we played tennis together up in Toronto. That will have to wait for the afterlife.

I never stopped loving you and I hope the same is true for you. Tribble connects me to you. You and Tribble are my forever girls. Don't forget us. We love you bunches!

Walking in the park today with Tribble, Carol, the spring weather and clear blue sky made me think of our best days - back around 1988 up in Toronto, playing tennis together. And I remembered how I felt standing across the net from you thinking how, in you, I have everything I want and need. I felt truly blessed and I thanked God. It was heaven. I couldn't have been happier.

And today I thought how much I wish I could bring that happy, confident, ambitious, creative, compassionate soul to me here where I'm hiking and photographing trees, flowers, landscapes - things you were passionate about. It’s your laughter and intelligence, your companionship and support I miss. Wish you could be here with better health so we could stroll through the hiking trails with Trible, wade in the pools, go watch live music together, sing Bob Dylan songs together again.

But the fact that you did make my life seem perfect for a while is the reason I have loved you to the bottom of my soul ever since. No one can have everything forever, but eternal love is the next best thing.

There’s an English poet on Facebook who writes some beautiful poems. I told him some work for me as love poems for someone I miss every day. He said he has someone right beside him who's slipping away. When people love each other, “goodbye” doesn't help the survivor much. Still wish we had had the chance ourselves, but I know our love endures.

Here is Peter Foster's untitled poem

The quieter it gets
The more the silence
Is heard.
When less is said
The greater the meaning.
The softer the touch
The greater the impact
When the moment is gone
And only the itch remains
To bring attention
To its absence.
The longer the wait
For pain to subside
The deeper the wound.
And no matter
How wide
The divide,
More terrifying
Is the disconnect
Between
Hello
I love you
And goodbye.

A Bob Dylan song Carol & I used to sing together years ago with me strumming the chords. Beautiful, simple melody and great love poem we both loved..

LOVE MINUS ZERO/NO LIMIT

My love, she speaks like silence
Without ideals or violence
She doesn't have to say she's faithful
Yet she's true like ice, like fire
People carry roses
And make promises by the hour
My love she laughs like the flowers
Valentines can't buy her

In the dime stores and bus stations
People talk of situations
Read books, repeat quotations
Draw conclusions on the wall
Some speak of the future
My love, she speaks softly
She knows there's no success like failure
And that failure's no success at all

The cloak and dagger dangles
Madams light the candles
In ceremonies of the horsemen
Even the pawn must hold a grudge
Statues made of matchsticks
Crumble into one another
My love winks she does not bother
She knows too much to argue or to judge

The bridge at midnight trembles
The country doctor rambles
Bankers' nieces seek perfection
Expecting all the gifts that wise men bring
The wind howls like a hammer
The night wind blows cold n' rainy
My love, she's like some raven
At my window with a broken wing

Before Ziggy died yesterday, Carol, I asked her to give Mommy a kiss for Tribble and me when she meets you "on the other side". She was always the "bastard child" to you, but to me, she was, like you, the underdog, the neglected and abused. As with you, I wanted to make all her troubles go away. She and Tribble hiked many miles in the forests of PA, OH, and WV with me after you passed. It was a healing exercise for me - where I felt closer to you. And the dogs loved every minute of it.
   Ziggy had been gradually slowing down, and I was carrying her more and more, which I didn't mind, light as she was. In the end I wanted to end her suffering, but I've been crying all day about her. It's like losing you all over again. I know she's just a dog, but Tribble and Ziggy are what have kept me going. Ziggy was like my sick little baby I couldn't save.
   Ziggy's death at the vet's, with her dying in my arms, taught me something. Death IS "mighty and dreadful" no matter how it comes - whether predictably like my mom, violently like my father, suddenly and unexpectedly like you, or by merciful request like (mine for) Ziggy.
   Being able to say goodbye to a dog and hold her featherlight head in the palm of my hand didn't take the sting out any more than your passing unexpectedly with no chance for goodbyes. Of course, she was barely conscious and she is a dog, but it's all I have to work with...
   I'm going to add some memories here about Ziggy, before time causes them to fade. When our neighbor asked if Ziggy was our dog - Ziggy was just sitting scared and half-starved in the neighbor's yard - I had to go over to take a look. Of course, I knew it wasn't Tribble.
   Ziggy's hair was a mess. She looked mangy. Her left eye was all cloudy. I suspected she would bite if I tried to touch her, but when she didn't object to my touch, I picked her up. I brought her home to show her to you and Tribble. Don't recall Tribble's initial reaction. Don't think you were very impressed with her, but you did feel bad for her.
   I took her around to the neighbors to see if anyone knew who she belonged to. No one did. So I took her to the pound with the intention of leaving her there. I could tell from what was said and not said that I was her only hope.
   She ate like she hadn't had a decent meal in months. She gained weight and her coat improved immensely after a few weeks.
   You got mad at her a couple times for threatening Tribble. She definitely had an alpha dog personality. When I played "tug of war" with Tribble, Ziggy would bark like she wanted to play too, but "tug of war" really isn't a game for three, and anyway Ziggy didn't have enough teeth to dig into a toy.
   When Mr Buckmaster, the plumber, played with the dogs, you said you'd never seen Ziggy have so much fun : ) That's the great thing about "rescue dogs" - seeing them enjoy a second chance to be happy. But it also made her demise so hard to watch.
   After you passed and I would occasionally leave both dogs at the house, or less often, leave Ziggy at the house alone, her reaction upon my return was always to bark like crazy! I think you witnessed some of that. It was the one way in which Ziggy let us know how important we were to her.
   While Tribble wiggled her butt, wagged her tail wildly, and jumped for joy, Ziggy just barked a funny bark that said both "why did you leave?" and "so glad you're back!"

I remember magical moments like these..

It is heavenly,
With you sleeping
At my side,
Pain free.
Your pale skin
Cool to the touch,
Breathing
Slow and easy,
The bed an oasis
Of peace and tranquillity.
Even a car alarm
Barely breaks the spell.
I glance toward
The window,
The orchid flowering
On the dressing table,
A broad leaf,
Waxen green,
Resting across your
Old teddy’s tummy
And through the foliage
The sky is on fire.
Streaks of red,
Pink and gold,
Turner’s pallet,
Bleeding through
The blue.
It is a moment
To remember,
A small window
Of hope
And I lean across
To kiss your head.
Thankful
For a small piece of heaven
On a sunny day.

  -Peter Forster

Happy Birthday week Carol. I'm sure you are up in heaven having a big party.
Mary Easterling

CAROL D. PILKINGTON born February 5, 1957

You would have been 59 today, Carol. But who can say? You have the wisdom of a sage, the timeless beauty of a goddess, and a soul as ancient as the stars.

You ARE 59 today. You are every age and no age. You are every woman and the absence of woman whose laughter still makes me smile.

For most of my life, you were my life, and you are my life still. I will sit in a cemetery today to be closer to you. Tribble will frolic and I will cry. We didn't spend enough time holding each other. Tribble always wanted in on the action. Jellyfish!

Nothing compares 2 U : ) That song is so true. You were my missing part and I will be forever incomplete without you.

Rest in peace... or rock on - it's YOUR DAY!

Love forever and ever,

Dan

Beautiful words of hope for the living..

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.

  -Khalil Gibran (from "On Death")