Late Friday afternoon while taking photos at the Cross Creek Cemetery in Pennsylvania, Ziggy, our rescue dog, wandered off and got lost. This cemetery, part of the Raccoon Creek State Park, is old and overrun, out in middle of dense woods.

I trudged around the area in all directions, covering some sections several times. Ziggy has cataracts in both eyes, and can see out of only her right eye. At home, she finds her way back to the house when we hike in the woods out back. I kept hoping she would return to the common area where all the abandoned tombstones were located, and where the two dogs and I had strolled around together for a while. Or maybe return to where the car was parked. But she was nowhere to be found, and daylight was starting to fade. I feared she wouldn't make it through the night out here alone.

In desperation I asked Carol to help. I asked God to help. I said I feel like I let you down, Carol, and now I’ve let Ziggy down too. Two living beings who depended on me, and in both cases I took my eye off the ball, let my guard down. Carol & Ziggy had both been hurt by the world, and I wanted to keep them both safe - to show them there was good in the world, too, that they were good and deserved to be treated well.

The whole time I was looking for Ziggy I was calling out her name. Suddenly she came scampering up behind me! It was like a miracle! I picked her up and let her know how overjoyed I was that she found me. I carried her, hugging her, to the car, (where Tribble was waiting patiently) and before driving back home, set her down in the grass and took her picture.

Thank you, Carol :) You are ALWAYS on my mind :)

Thank you, God :) Please take care of Carol :)

It makes me so happy when I dream about you, Carol. This is what I dreamt last night...


You are a hospital patient, being fussy like you are prone to be in hospitals which you hate. The regimentation. The way they treat you like a child. The way your destiny seems to hang on the whim of a doctor who comes by at unpredictable times and spends what seems like way too little time with you to really know you and your condition.

You are rather unsteady on your feet, having slept a good while. Food has been brought, but you don't like it, saying, “I want a hamburger!” to which I reply, “It’s breakfast time!” You go on listing what you want, adding “tell them to make it twenty years’ worth!”

They treat you like a kid and you react like a rebellious kid. It can be exasperating at times, but I love that fiery spirit! While you were hospitalized for a full month in January-February, 2014, I made countless trips to the cafeteria for tea with honey, ice cream, mashed potatoes, all your favorite things. It was the least I could do for the love of my life, a wounded bird whose only dream was to soar again above the clouds.

God looked down on us and saw that we were happy. Two people with troubled lives finding salvation in each other. We were still relatively young. The weather was beautiful. It was spring. We were in love. Taking tennis lessons together. Everything was just about perfect.

And then you tilted your head to one side and froze. Like your mind was focusing on a sound only you could hear. And the seizure started. You lost consciousness and fell to the ground.

By the time the ambulance arrived, you were awake again, but confused, asking "What happened?" I’m still asking myself that question today twent-five years later.

But I took an oath that day on the tennis court, and every day since, that I would love you faithfully, unwaveringly, forever. However far from perfect I may have strayed, I know I kept that promise to myself on that beautiful spring day and will keep it till the end of time.

  The strangest things can bring tears now, though generally time is easing the pain. Tonight it was a picture on "60 Minutes" of a little girl, a refugee, who "later" starved to death. It reminded me of your fragility, when the medical community (of cowards) dragged its collective feet for years, afraid to extract your teeth until your stomach doctor finally told them to get on with it before YOU starved to death.
  The photo also reminded me of how you were a victim of your own body - with the hundreds of seizures I witnessed. But the old adage seemed true - that they made you stronger in some sense (though they clearly had a destructive effect as well). We’re all "victims of our own bodies” in a way. They carry us, but in the end can’t save us.
  I worried that one more fall or car accident could end you. All those years of being just skin and bones. But your were never just that. You always had that laugh and that innate kindness and sharp intelligence that made you so lovable. Irreplaceable. Unforgettable. And, by the way, I doubled our contribution to your favorite chidrens’ charity :)
  I miss saying “I love you" to you in person, and even more, I miss hearing it from you.

It's a real joy for me to find a poem written by Carol that I don't remember ever having read. It's like hearing her speak again! This one was written around 2004 based on the notebook I found it in.







   REMEMBERING

Your deep, dark brown dancing eyes
Your luxurious dark brown hair
the rose that blessed both your cheeks
and sudden wind-bursts galloping thru time
         into the Everwhere
Only to come trotting back again, and tickle
 our faces with breezes of air.

I remember drinking iced tea on a hot summer day
And it wet my thirst like sweet liquid silk after so much play
Back when you and me and Mary Jane
with the cousins visiting and lots of imagination lit up our own best days
and sudden child-bursts of laughter went galloping thru time
only to fly back on winged-horses -- releasing golden spheres of child-laughter everywhere!

And now, I am remembering us as adults
Wishing, Linda, I could replenish joyful innocence,
into you now, that I could save you this agony
Called cancer and order it into remission.

And yet, did I tell you a miracle
occurred just yesterday? My step-sister
whose body was failing, who was 3 months
in a coma with no sign of brain response
is rising from the Everwhere to slowly
trot back home, where a gentle breeze stirs softly and waits,
ensuring these wall-sconce candles burn brightly upon returning youth.

   Inevitably, Carol, I return to you. That’s not a complaint, just an observation. It’s Sunday evening, June 28, ninety seven days since you left this world, and the electricity just went off. Wasn't even raining! But, in gathering up candles for the darkness to come, my thoughts turn inevitably toward my one true love. Remembering how I’d always wonder what we were going to do with all those candles you'd buy, and then I’d be so pleased to have plenty to spread around when suddenly we needed them. And the lighter I bought at Krogers on my way home from Austin a couple weeks ago. How many of those I must have bought over the years! The serenity of candlelight. Knowing you were safe. I went in your room tonight looking for extra candles, finding none. How the memories overwhelm me. Tribble & I tucking you in at night. Sometimes Tribble waking you up in the morning. It was always such a comfort knowing you were there. You were like a sleeping princess, who, thanks to Tribble, was always happy to get up and start a new day, and always seemed happy going to bed, with or without music, TV, or Tribble. It was magical. The best days of my life :)

   I was planning to watch “True Detective” tonight. Then I thought, I don’t care, I’ll listen to the radio. Can’t do that either without Internet. So here I am writing to my soul mate.

   I hope you are at peace. I have great confidence in you! Your physical body was weakened by illness, but you have an indomitable spirit, and I believe whatever challenges were thrown at you in the confusing transition to the afterlife, your intelligence, imagination, intuition, and integrity carried you through in wonderful fashion.

   Your physical death has caused me to make radical reassessments about the afterlife. I just cannot accept that once you died, all the great things about you that I, and so many other people, loved, could just suddenly cease to exist. Christianity has too much baggage for me - too many clever editors and committees, too many rules, and too much dogma. But that doesn't have to be the end of the question. I believe your spirit lives on.

   I found a wonderful book in Austin while visiting Francine. It’s called “The Modern Book of the Dead: A Revolutionary Perspective on Death, the Soul, and What Really Happens in the Life to Come”. The author, Ptolemy Tompkins, attempts to piece together information from near-death experiences, communications through mediums, and a study of all major religious views on the afterlife, a modern theory appropriate to our time and culture.

   I wish I would have taken you more seriously when you told me about your own near-death experiences. I wish I hadn't gotten tired of hearing your stories about you and Jeff, too, because they are part of YOUR life, and that makes them important to me as well. I’d give anything just to hear your voice again :)

   The author I was telling you about makes death sound like a relief more than anything - that you’re reunited with your greater self (your “Oversoul”), and that you should be in touch with loved ones who went before you. If the author is right, and I believe he’s as right as anyone, you are doing well. That’s comforting to know. And, your current state of being, according to the writer is pretty much in line with Christian tradition, minus the pearly gates, the wings, St. Peter, etc. I like the idea of you with wings though :)

   The electricity is trying to come back on. It’s 8:47 pm. Tribble needs to go for a walk :) We both love you bunches :)

   Carol was truly special. When I met her I told her she was really wise and I meant it. She dazzled me with her grasp of counseling principles she had learned - in counseling - and was so great at distilling complex concepts down to their essential meaning - making them so clear and understandable. She was like my guru!

Whatever combination of factors resulted in her having such poor health, I can only hope she has better luck next time around.

According to this modern idea of the afterlife, I may or may not meet Carol again. Regardless, I’m so glad we met and had the time we did to know and cherish each other.

Carol had immense potential, and I believe the challenges of her life as Carol have added to the depth of love and wisdom still residing within. I know she wanted to finish her life here, but it’s comforting to think of her spirit in harmony with the cosmos and at peace with herself.

I should have listened to her when she talked about her near-death experiences. I thought it was all mind tricks. Now I believe. And when I die, I hope it will be with certainty that it’s not the end of my soul.

Carol, with her remarkable ability to tap into her unconscious for her poetry, and her fascination with science fiction, HAS an expansive spirit. She is finally free of pain. I hope she’s given ample time to enjoy the freedom and exhilaration of her current state.

These are my consolations. I hope to do better overall my next time around, if there is a next time, but there’s no way I could do better than Carol as a soul mate. I had the best!

   On my drive to Austin Texas and back this month, I had a lot of time to think about Carol.

   Regrets. Wishing when she would ask me what I loved about her, I wouldn't have said to myself, "Not this again," but instead would've gotten down on my knees and told her everything I cherished about her from the day we met. I would always tell her I loved her intelligence and her sense of humor and her compassion, but there's so much more to say now that she’s no longer here.

   Carol, I love your company and your presence. I love your friendship and your absolute support. I love your determination to succeed against all odds. Your love for the underdog. Your laugh. Your voice. The way you would call my name. I still hear you calling. I love your spirit and your imagination. Your sense of wonder. Your love of satire and slapstick. That you wanted to take up bass guitar again. I love your poetry and the wonderful songs you wrote. I love how you turned me on to the wonders of nature and the joys of the deep forest. Your spirituality and how you were constantly trying to help others. How you rescued me from my miserable life.

   I regret anything and everything I ever said that made you think or feel for a second that you weren't the most important person I’d ever met, the most perfect partner in every way, my soul mate, my forever girl.

    Seems like Carol & I were always chasing the dream of her health improving, and that dream always seemed to stay just out of reach. I wish now I could have afforded to retire earlier so we could have spent more time really being together.

    We managed to have some fun, though, no matter what our circumstances happened to be. Once, in the late ’90s, I believe, Carol accompanied me on a work-related trip to Chicago. Everything went fine until we got ready to come home. That’s when the transmission died, and we had to find another room for a couple days. What we found was a motel called The Mayflower, which was close to the repair shop and looked fairly modern. But, they had no vacancies. Unless, they said, we would be interested in a room that’s normally rented out by the hour!

    Tired, disgusted, and not feeling like looking for another place to stay, we agreed to the special. But, when we entered that room out back by the alley, there was such a feeling of dread in the place, we knew we couldn't stay. We joked that suicides, if not murders, must have been committed there. There was a palpable sense of loneliness and depression in that room like nothing we had ever experienced. It was as if the place was part of a movie set for a very gloomy film noir.

    We hurried back to the front desk and insisted on a refund. Once we found a nice, clean little motel a few miles down the road, we never appreciated normalcy so much in our lives. We had a good night's sleep, and got safely home the next day. But, we never forgot that dark, creepy, menacing room, and when one of us would mention the Mayflower Motel in the years that followed, we would both laugh nervously and then try to forget it ever happened.

ps, curious about what became of the Mayflower, I did a search and learned this “crime-ridden motel” was torn down in 2010, replaced by a luxury car dealership.

According to the “Chicago Tribune”:
Clarendon Hills Deputy Police Chief Ted Jenkins said the department frequently responded not only to criminal complaints but also medical emergencies at the hotel, whose population was transient.

“We’re not sorry to see it go, that’s for sure,” Jenkins said, adding that it was one of the busiest addresses for police and ambulance services in the village. “It is the end of the era.”

And finally, from a hotel review page dated 2005: "If you’re staying here, it's probably because you were evicted from your apartment...”

Carol was blessed to have had some wonderful doctors during her life. But her complex and varied medical problems were a real test for the healing profession. Some went "through the motions", others gave up before trying, only a very few proved to be top rate. Carol had some doctors tell her her seizures were "pseudo seizures". Others concluded "seizures" was just a pretext for getting pain medicine. Carol was a very loving person, but she had no patience for doctors who weren't up to the task of providing world-class service and care. Sometime in the 90s she wrote this poem for medical mediocracy with a god complex:

DO NOT SING TO ME OF FIRE, DOCTOR

I am a crazy woman, set ablaze
by that inner music
only the cursed and blessed can hear.

Yet, you come to me,
       mouthing your six-syllable
textbook diagnoses.

       Sing to me of fire, will you?

Beware, my modern charlatan. Plush
carpets and fancy offices will not
save you.

       Your serpent-smile charms only
snakes. I have met you before on this
journey of healing.

        Only the faces were different--
same intentions. Expensive tests, fast
bucks, five-minute answers that answered
        nothing. Then the next patient
was herded in, and the next, and the next,
        until the flow of money obscured
any true concern.

        So, I tell you now, false healer--
Do not sing to me of fire, a fire that is
        not your own.

Until it has burned YOU, peeled away layers
of your own skin       left you screaming
bleeding     pounding at death’s door for
mercy    then tossed you back   a slab of
bacon someone grafted wet plasti-skin to...
       until then do not sing of it. 

It is not your song.
                             It is not your fire.

You have simply copied the tones down,
        sniffed at the smoke,
singed a few nose hairs. Beware, lost shaman,

Your books will not save you. You had
        a chance to put out many fires.
Instead, you threw kerosene in, called it
        warmth, and charged the wounded.

The flames surround you, but you do not
        see them. I shall pray then, doctor,
before the song of fire
                              consumes more than
your    flesh.

Before finding the right combination/strength of drugs to control Carol’s seizures, we never knew when one might hit. Riding in the car was obviously not the preferred setting. Hence, this poem I wrote for Carol many years ago. We were on our way to her mom’s to celebrate the Fourth of July:

JUST BE WITH ME

Driving country roads with you.
Small town America celebrating birth and bombs.
Your legs stiff.   You can’t talk.
What is happening to you?   To us?
What is that moving by the center line?
Dragging itself on two legs?   Terror in its eyes?
I jerk missing the creature leaving it there
for the next car the one climbing up the hill
whispering dead thoughts.

Hold on just a little longer and we’ll get there
in time for peace and volleyball and love.
I promise.   Even if you are a tired nation
closing your door.   Even if the pitchforked tongue
of the masses calls for you to burn.

I won’t be happy till I see you again
a blue-sky summer afternoon of hot tub nirvana.
I know all too well what ails you--
mindless parasites at every turn
nibbling a miracle of flesh and bone.
“I’m not dead yet!" you scream and laugh together.
Yes, laugh!   As long as you do that
there will be soft lights and song
long walks in the forest
everything that makes you smile.

-------------------------------------------
 
A POEM OF CAROL'S showing how she experienced the starkly contrasting worlds of the seizure itself and the post-seizure waking state:

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
    heart rate spun arrhythmic.

Then eyes snap open like venetion 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 two pods
of frankincense, fragrant
    without the ritual burning.

Carol loved her little Morkie like a daughter. Even had me bring Tribble to the extended care facility where she was a patient in the bitter cold of February, 2014. (She spent both her birthday and Valentine's Day there.) Nothing brightened her day like Tribble wiggling and scrambling around her bed with uncontrolled excitement!

We had thought of getting a companion dog for Tribble. Even thought about driving to North Carolina to check out some possible "matches" at a professional breeder of small dogs that allowed prospective owners to test their current pets for compatibility with their offerings. Never got around to that.

Then fate brought us Ziggy, a Pomeranian mix who someone abandoned. She was sitting in a neighbor’s yard, very weak, malnourished. After trying to no avail to find her owner, we took her in, which was not easy on Tribble or Carol. Tribble had been, after all, an “only child” for five and a half years:)

Ziggy was freaky looking. Her upper row of teeth were all gone, and cataracts had blinded her in one eye, and she had “Phyllis Diller” hair. But we loved her and treated her well, and she ate like a horse, and her coat grew long and beautiful, and she gained lots of weight, and is now a very happy girl.

But I’ll never forget Carol saying Ziggy (the new, improved Ziggy, that is) looked like an armadillo. Now, every time I see her moving slowly through the house - skulking - I think of that comment. Ziggy has a little face and a whole bunch of hair, so I guess that’s where the association comes from.

Used to be when I would say a kind word to Ziggy, Carol would admonish, “You’re upsetting Tribble.” True, our baby was very jealous. But I didn't believe in bringing an animal into our house and then shunning it. We struggled along.

With Carol’s passing, “things have changed” to say the least - but that's also the title of a Bob Dylan song and a great music video  Carol loved. In fact, I played it for her on my iPad while she waited to go into surgery:)  During the past five weeks or so, the armadillo and the Morkie seemed to have bonded pretty well, realizing, I guess, it's just the three of us now.

She didn't have a lot growing up, so she enjoyed getting the most for her money. She loved yard sales and flea markets. We had some great times at the Rogers (OH) open-air market. Carol was in her glory looking through jewelry, clothes, home decor items. Some of my fondest memories of things we did together in the last couple years - other than medical appointments - included shopping with my wife :)

We have a small house, and I would always wonder what we were going to do with all her “bargains". But nothing made her happier than shopping for little gems amongst all the junk.

I used to think about getting rid of some of the “excess” stuff Carol would bring home. Now that she’s gone, everything she touched and wore and admired and loved is like gold to me. Along with the photos, notes, and poems she left behind, all those pretty things she collected over the years are absolutely priceless to me.

Carol, I am so desperately lonely for you - for your smile, your laughter, your playfulness, your kindness, your company. Tribble seems to be handling your passing better than me. She was definitely confused and sad for quite a while, but lately, I'm happy to say, she’s been bringing toys to me to play tug-o-war just like the old days. And I play your part as well as my own, “Saying, Daddy’s cheating! Foul! Tribble won! Yay, Tribble! She’s the Champion!” And then I clap for her like we used to do together:) Then I get teary-eyed from missing you saying the words yourself.

She’s at Tamara’s now getting her "summer cut". Though Ziggy’s here with me, the house seems so empty with both you and Tribble not here. Tribble brings me such joy and comfort now - our baby girl. She and Ziggy love to roam around Sugar Grove Cemetery while I'm visiting you there. I want you to have a stone at your grave that’s as beautiful and unique as you. Not just something off the tombstone assembly line:)

I'm so sorry I didn't check on you the morning you died. I thought you were okay, and all we had to do was watch your diet for a couple weeks. Finding you dead was the worst, most shocking moment of my life. If it weren't for Tribble and honoring your memory, I would have had no reason to go on.

I’m so very proud of you for all the fights you fought (and won) and all the hardships you endured without ever giving up or becoming a bitter person. I put you on a pedestal the day I met you (or maybe even earlier on the day I read “Purple Hearts”) and you’re still there and always will be - even if at times I was an ass, a goof, a bastard, an idiot, or all of the above at once.

I just wanted you to be healthy enough to get out of the damned house and have some fun! You deserved it! But we did make the most of what we had - the hand that was dealt us. We were together nearly twenty-eight years. We found ways to enjoy what we had - the wonderful cruises, vacations at Myrtle Beach, Virginia Beach, the Smoky Mountains, Burr Oak, our trips to Sandy and Larry’s, hiking, camping, picnics, tennis, wave pools, movies, TV, Battlestar Galactica, Star-Trek, Doctor Who, all thos hundreds of Star-Trek novels I used to buy for you, and the last time we ate at Olive Garden and you cracked me up with the silly faces you made:) And when we couldn't get out to do anything else, we found wonderful alien worlds to explore together with me reading aloud from the iPad. I really felt close to you doing that, especially when we’d get lost in a really great story, of which there were many.

You apparently died peacefully in your sleep, rather than how some people go in a slow, agonizing way. I'm also grateful that you died before me, not only because you would have been (like me) so alone, but also so isolated, not being able to drive, and who knows what type of help you could have found.

But what we both dreamed of was an end to your reflux and related problems, so that you could really thrive again and we could sparkle with life and love and enjoy the spring and summer, and find a way to avoid future Ohio winters.

Looking back at some pictures I took of you around 2005, I can easily see how much progress you’d made with your health - just by stopping the cigarettes and cutting back on the pain meds. You looked so vibrant and healthy when you were going to the chiropractor in the spring of 2014, and with your beautiful new dentures and sparkling blonde hair you looked absolutely terrific even after taking a break from the chiropractor. And the seizures were controlled and your migraines had let up.

You were right on the precipice of a new, happier life. That’s what makes it all so tragic for those of us who knew you best. I’m so glad you got to talk with Sandy the night you came home from the hospital. She said you sounded really happy, and you were so exited about visiting her and Larry again.

I believe your spirit goes on - othwise I wouldn't be writing this:) I believe you hear me when I talk to you - especially when the dogs and I are out in the middle of the forest with no one else around - that’s where I feel closest to you. I want to be there as much as possible - with you - for the rest of my days.

I know you are surrounded by divine love as well as by the love of friends and family who left this life before you. I know you are not in pain. You are, and will always be, my soul mate. Our love is eternal. My prayers and thoughts are with you always, my love, until the morning when Tribble and I once again wait at the bottom of the stairs to celebrate your triumphant entrance into the day to greet us, Tribble jumping for joy and me just standing there smiling, glowing in the happiness of our long-awaited reunion:)

* Commercials, expecially LOUD ONES!

* Rude people, particularly those whose job it was to serve others.

* Meat (since her month-long hospital stay in early 2014).

* Rice.

* Ketchup  (really hated ketchup!)

* Seafood with eyes staring up from the plate (not that she ever ordered any).

* Abuse of any kind, but she wanted to understand and change abusers willing to make an honest effort. Overall she had zero tolerance for violence.

* Graphic portrayals of cruelty in the media.

* Rap music. Opera. Yodeling.

* Anyone who put down (or otherwise hurt) a member of her family (or dearest friends).

* Tribble's nervous all-night barking when we stayed in motels.

* Grotesque images of the dead - vampires, zombies, etc.

* Grotesque politicicans - she cared about people, she knew what it was like to be poor, even homeless. Use your imagination.

* The buzzer on our old Ford Taurus that would beep loudly and persistently until we fastened our seat belts. She would tell it to SHUT UP!. Said it reminded her of Jeff, her ex-husband.

* But mostly Carol was the most loving person I’d ever met. This was remarkable to me considering all the hard luck, personal setbacks and health problems she'd experienced in her life. She was not at all bitter. It made her a joy to know and easy to love.

   I'm so glad I decided against playing "Amazing Grace" on my guitar at Carol's funeral.  I've been learning fingerpicking, and I know only a couple songs by heart.  I hadn't yet played this one for Carol, my primary audience.

   The day after the funeral I played my new guitar for our son, Charlie, and his girlfriend, Tonya.  When I finished, they complimented me, the piece was "calming" and had a "new age" feel.  I had to TELL THEM it was Amazing Grace!

   Carol would have like it, but there were professional guitarists present at the funeral - relatives of Carol.  It probably would have been too emotionally difficult for me to do anyway.  Thank God this time I listened to my inner critic!