Above all, she loved her little Morkie, Tribble, who was the daughter she never had. The daughter her ex-husband killed, she said, with his physical abuse during her one and only pregnancy.  And later her battle with cancer ending in a maternity ward where she woke up to the news that a total hysterectomy had been performed.

But Carol was a fighter and a dreamer. Devastated by her failed marriage and inability to bear children, she decided to finally get the education that had always been denied her, and to build a meaningful life for herself.

When I met her in 1987, her divorce was not yet final, and her claim for Social Security disability was still pending. Those two obstacles were soon overcome, and her college studies advanced despite constant exhaustion and frequent bouts of bronchitis and pneumonia.

These were the best years of my life, though at the time I complained about us not spending enough time together. She would say, "it’s for the best that I get my degree so we’ll have two incomes." And that was that.

We played tennis. Went swimming. Went to the wave pool several times. Took an unscheduled trip to the Smoky Mountains, where we camped out and rode the rapids (and Carol suffered her first back injury). Wrote love poems to each other. Joined poetry groups. Participated in poetry readings. Went for long walks in the forest.

Then in 1990, Carol’s health took a dramatic turn for the worse. We were taking tennis lessons together at Jefferson Community College. Carol stopped and turned her head as if to better hear a distant sound. Her first seizure. The first of hundreds. An ambulance was called. She was taken to a hospital and released. Maybe it was a one-time thing they said. How I wish that were true.

The next seizure occurred on May 4th, 1990, at the twenty-year anniversary of the Kent State murders. Along with several other poets, she had read one of her poems earlier in the day, but upon visiting the actual site of the shootings, her emotions were evidently flooded causing a seizure.

Local neurologists nearly destroyed her with phenobarbital and Dilantin, but thankfully after having her brain waves monitored for a couple days (and nights) at Allegheny General in Pittsburgh, she was put on Depakote, which provided minimal seizure control.

Even with her seizure disorder, she finished her undergraduate degree and started work on her masters in counseling. Without checking records, I don't recall exactly when it happened, but Carol was sexually harassed as an intern at a local mental health facility. When she brought this to the attention of her internship advisor, he also sexually harassed her.

The school “circled the wagons” and dismissed her from the university. I believe she was just one course shy of earning her masters at that point.

We found a wonderful attorney to represent her against the school, Thomas Hampton of Barnesville OH. Carol spent the next two or three years working on nothing but her lawsuit. The one exception was a brief stint as social worker at the LaBelle Nursing Center in an attempt to raise some money for legal fees. She worked too many hours for too little pay, and ended up being in a car accident making a turn off her street one day on the way to work - a guy in a truck, who didn't even stop - classic hit and run. The back injury she sustained plagued her the rest of her life.

Next was the nightmare of the rotting teeth. A neurologist from Youngstown who wrote her scripts for Depakote for years, neglected to mention that Depakote causes “dry mouth”, which leads to tooth decay. At first Carol tried to save her teeth. By the time she was convinced it was a losing battle, no one would pull them! One idiotic osteopath kept sending her for test after test before he would approve her for removal of her teeth. Finally, a common sense gastroenterologist told the oral surgeon, “get these teeth out before this woman starves to death!”

By the time it was finally done, part of her jawbone had to be removed as well.

It was just in the last two or three years that we achieved near total control of seizures. They definitely took a toll on her, but we felt truly blessed to be free of them!

It always seemed like once we got one problem under control, another would pop up. In the last couple years that trouble was “reflux". Once we had that solved we wanted to travel and explore - make the best of our "golden years”. Just being together was enough, sharing simple pleasures. But after all she’d been through, I wanted so much to give her more.

   A good thing about being in love with a writer is I can go back and read Carol's notes, thoughts, dreams, short stories and poetry.

   This untitled, undated poem was apparently written after we had met, and before her seizures and her troubles with the university began. I like it because it shows her romantic, optimistic nature.

                                                                                                                      Somewhere--                                                                                                                  A place for lost dreams.                                                    

Somewhere--                                                                                                               A place where hope gleams.

Somewhere--                                                                                                                A place for lovers’ songs.

Somewhere--                                                                                                                 A place where we belong.

Building castles out of clouds,                                                                                   Touching the wind upon our face,                                                                              Running with the psalm of life,                                                                                   We shall find at last our place.

Somewhere--                                                                                                                A place for lost dreams.

Somewhere--                                                                                                                A place where hope gleams.

Somewhere--                                                                                                                A place for lovers’ songs.

Somewhere--                                                                                                                A place where we belong.

Sometimes when I get very busy around the house, the sadness of Carol’s absence lessens somewhat. But then I'll see one of her coats, the light brown suede with the difficult zipper, and remembering how I used to help her with it, I’m flooded with memories of how much we cared for each other, how we showed it in little ways, how we would laugh when we'd say "I love you" at exactly the same time, how Carol was always trying to spend money on me for things like a new watch, or jeans, or socks, how she insisted on paying for my new printer, an iPad for my birthday, how exited she'd be opening her Christmas gifts, how she loved having me read novels, poetry, and short stories to her, how she kept telling me to get my toe fixed "before it’s too late".

But saddest of all is I’ll never help her wash her hair again, or wash her back, help her in and out of the tub, quickly wrap her in towels to keep her from “freezing" after a bath, help blow-dry her hair, tell her, after she's all made up and dressed, how great she looks.

Friends and family, of course.

In terms of faith, though, reflections like this one help a lot:

DEATH IS NOTHING AT ALL            (Henry Scott-Holland)

Death is nothing at all.

It does not count.

I have only slipped away into the next room.

Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.

I am I, and you are you,

and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.

Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.

Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.

Put no difference into your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.

Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same as it ever was.

There is absolute and unbroken continuity.

What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you, for an interval,

somewhere very near,

just round the corner.

All is well.

Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.

One brief moment and all will be as it was before.

How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

March 23, 2015 ( the day Carol died)

The surgeon, Dr. Jobe, called and left a message, then never returned my calls. His message: "...I’m so sorry to hear about this. Please give me a call when you get this message my personal cell number is 412-***-****. You’re in my prayers. Talk to you later.”

Later in the day, one of his assistant doctors called and learned I was interested in an autopsy. He said, “We are too, so this doesn't happen again.” They weren't interested enough to get the hospital to conduct one, though. And I think my interest in autopsy is why Dr. Jobe never called me back a second time.

I also talked with Carol’s personal care physician, Dr. Timothy Campbell of Pittsburgh. He felt an autopsy should be done because 1) death was unexpected, 2) death occurred shortly after surgery, and 3) Carol died shortly after being discharged from the hospital. However I learned, since Carol died at home (in Jefferson County, Ohio) local rules apply, and Jefferson County does autopsies only when “foul play” is suspected. In other words, they do forensic, but not medical, autopsies.

A woman at Dr. Jobe’s office was kind enough to find a private physician for me who does "over 400” autopsies a year, and could have done one on Carol for $4,000. I spoke with this doctor, and seriously considered the idea, but, in the end, decided against it.

One reason was the possibility that despite his minimally invasive techniques, and his detailed photographs and 34 page report, the summary may not have been conclusive as to cause of death. Dr. Campbell had told me the most likely cause was a pulmonary embolism (caused by a blood clot). The second most likely was heart failure. Third most likely was acute peritonitis.

He also said if none of those seem to apply, an autopsy report might just fall back on epilepsy as the cause. And he mentioned something to me I’d never heard of: SUDEP (sudden unexpected death of someone with epilepsy).

The one thing the hospital didn't do that angers me to this day is they gave Carol only one of her two seizure medications during her stay (via IV). After Carol suffered hundreds of grand mal seizures over more than twenty years, Dr. Brizuela, her neurologist, had blessed us with the miracle of near-perfect seizure control. And the hospital cavalierly let her go for three days with only one of her two life-saving seizure meds.

I think Carol probably did die of SUDEP. I’ll never know for sure. But so soon after Carol's unexpected death following an operation that was supposed to significantly improve her health and quality of life, I was in no mood to trust anyone in the medical profession.

Moreover, when Carol was in college years ago taking an anatomy course, the thing she hated most was having to dissect a cat - a cat in a plastic bag soaked in formaldehyde. She said a cat is a majestic creature that can do amazing things. It’s much more than this poor specimen in this bag. I feel the same way about Carol. She was poked and prodded enough in life. I wanted to preserve the dignity and respect she had fought so hard for all her life and which she so richly deserves.

I know Carol believed in God and an afterlife. She believed in following the teachings of Jesus. She believed in the golden rule, forgiveness, fair play, minority rights & women's rights.

She had an open mind about the universe and our place in it. She loved science fiction and had herself quite an active and creative mind.

I came across a poem by W.S. Merwin recently that I know she would have liked. We saw him read once in Pittsburgh and stood in line afterwards to have him sign one of her books. He is one of our favorites. I like this poem because it deals with big questions of life and death without supposing to know the answers:

   THE RING             (by W.S. Merwin)

At this moment                                                                                                               the earth which for all we know

is the only place in the vault of darkness                                                                      with life on it is wound in a fine veil

of whispered voices gripping the frayed waves                                                               of absence they keep flaring up

out of hope entwined with it's opposite                                                                            to wander in ignorance as we do

when we look for what we have lost                                                                             one moment touching the earth and the next

straying far out past the orbits and webs                                                                      and the static of knowledge they go on

without being able to tell whether                                                                                 they are addressing the past or the future

or knowing there they are heard these words                                                                    of the living talking to the dead

Carol beat the odds so many times...

But this site is intended as a place to celebrate Carol's life.  She told me early on not to put her on a pedestal, but how could I not - she saved me in so many ways, and I was, and am, eternally grateful to her for it.

I invite those who knew her, her family, my family, and her friends - especially her best friend, Sandy up in Northwestern PA - to "light a candle", "leave a flower" or a note, or write a "chapter" or "story".  Many of the photographs from her younger days I hadn't seen before and have only a general idea of the time frames involved.  I thank her sister, Kelley Skidmore, for making the early stuff available. 

At her funeral I let a few of her poems speak for her.  There's a lot more to be said.  I plan to post many of her poems on this site over time.

At my request, my son's girlfriend, Tonya, videotaped the funeral service for me using my iPad.

Carol was intelligent, beautiful, creative, but most important of all she genuinely cared about people.  Sometimes I thought she cared too much, but she had true insight into suffering and cared deeply about those she loved.

This led her to specialize in counseling in college and she excelled in it.  At every turn, however, illness seemed to knock her down.  She was one course shy of her masters degree when everything went wrong.  And it really never got right again, but I believed in her totally and loved her unconditionally and fought for her and with her in every step of her perilous journey.

She never lost the wisdom she had gained in learning about counseling.  She was by nature very forgiving, and was great at working out problems.

Poor health was her nemesis.  We sought out the best doctors we could find, and they performed miracles.  But last year she nearly died from pneumonia caused, we learned, from "aspiration".  Her long-time respiratory specialist recommended a highly regarded specialist to do a workup of her reflux problem.

She bravely went through test after test including a swallowing test that involved having a tube inserted in her nostril and pushed all the way down her throat - without sedation or anesthesia.  I was amazed she did so well, but she was determined to get better.  There were other tests, too.  Blood tests, CT scan of the chest, EKG - some of which we delayed because of the cold weather.

When it was finally all done, the specialists said Carol had "Achalasia", a rare swallowing problem.  The surgery was to be done without external incision to widen the opening at the bottom of the esophagus to make reflux less frequent. 

The procedure is called a Per-Oral Endoscopic Myotomy or P.O.E.M. - ("There have been more than 1,000 cases of POEM performed, on vaious grades of achalasia worldwide.  Clinical results are excellent with no major complications." - handout from the surgeon's office)

The surgery was done on the afternoon of March 20, 2015 by Dr. Blair Jobe at West Penn Hospital in Pittsburgh PA.  He spoke with me afterward and said everything had gone very well.  Carol was put on a pain pump (dilaudid) and was not allowed to eat or drink Friday night or Saturday morning.  Her medicines were given by IV (some of them anyway.)

On Saturday the question became when could she start drinking liquids.  We were told a barium swallow first had to be done, and there was a delay because she had indicated being allergic to radioactive contrast dye.  Eventually it was decided to do the test without the radioactive stuff, and eventually it was announced there was no "leakage" and Carol was allowed to drink apple juice, tea, etc.

I don't recall now exactly when it was that they started her on Jello - Saturday night or Sunday.  But as Sunday drew on the pain pump was removed and replaced with liquid.  At this point Carol was talking to a nurse about whether or not pet dogs were allowed to visit patients.  The nurse said to check with the floor administrator the next day.  We figured she would be discharged on Monday or Tuesday.

Then all of a sudden one of Dr. Jobe's assistant doctors came in and asked, "Are you ready to go home?'  When directed at Carol in a hospital, this is not really a question.  She was dressed and ready to leave in no time!  She was told to resume her regular medications, but was never actually given a solid pill while at the hospital - and she takes several.

So we drove home, got stuck in a traffic jam due to the Ft. Pitt Tunnels being closed for repairs.  By the time we arrived home we were both pretty tired.  The dogs went crazy with excitement to see their mommy again!  Carol took her meds and went to bed.

Knowing it had been hard to sleep at the hospital, and that she can be a deep sleeper when exhausted, I didn't disturb her in the morning (she has her own bedroom due to my snoring).  I took the dogs with me for a ride to McDonald's and then a short walk at the park.  When we got home I thought she had slept long enough.

I don't know what time she died...

We had big plans for the spring - to get out of the damned house for one thing.  To visit my son in Green Bay, WI, maybe finally get to Austin, TX, to see my sister, Francine, who teaches creative writing at Texas State U.  We were looking for a warmer place to move to, and Austin sounded great.  Carol never gave up.  She was a fighter and an optimist, and her good qualities were contagious.

She had a great sense of humor.  Two people could make her laugh like no others.  Her sister, Lisa, who died in June 2014, and her dearest friend, Sandy Wood, whose voice-mail messages still make me laugh.

Carol never stopped surprising me with her keen intelligence and insight - whether while sharing a movie or a book.  She made life fun.

I have to believe she's in a better place.  She was too special to just turn into nothing.  Ashes to ashes?  Dust to dust?  I'd never count her out :)