How do I begin?
How do I make sense of an existence that would DESTROY the life and intellect of a strong, humorous and independent woman, who was the Mother of OUR son, Jeff ?
An existence that would rob Jeff of the woman that I had known and fallen for, in my younger days.
I suppose to do that I would need to start at the beginning.
We met in the early 70’s when I, a year removed from serving my country, moved to “The City.”
I being an “Upstate New Yorker” who had spent a good year and a half in Manhattan before going into the service, knew that I needed to return to New York City if I were ever going to break free of the claustrophobic lifestyle that was Albany, N.Y. I secured a job in the city at a funeral home on west 76th st, and Amsterdam Ave where among my many duties I answered the switchboard directing calls to the various offices.
It was there that I met Carole.
She lived on the same block as the funeral home and had a friend who also worked there, and she would drop in every so often to visit. It was there that I was introduced to Carole, who had dropped in unannounced, with Guitar in hand and a “Bohemian” look and attitude, began playing and singing folk songs, among them , a Judy Collins song Suzanne. I thought how weird it was that Carole could come to a funeral home and start playing and singing in front of someone that she did not know. I was to learn that it was this aspect of her personality, the weird outgoing take charge person who projected a confidence in herself, that would ultimately draw me into wanting to know her better.
In the ensuing months, while getting to know Carole better I would sometimes, try and plumb the depths of her weirdness. On one occasion I was to go to a funeral home outside of Albany and pick up a remains and bring it back for burial. Since I was going by myself, I called Carole and asked if she wanted to take a ride with me upstate, but not informing her of the reason for the trip.
Carole knew I had family in Albany, so it was assumed that was the reason. We stopped at my mothers house on the way to the funeral home, but she was not at home, so I left a message that I would be returning with a friend for dinner at which point Carole asked where were we going. I said I had to pick someone up, not mentioning that person was deceased. When we arrived at the funeral home and I picked up our passenger, Carole started to laugh and with a big smile on her face, said if I had told her of my mission beforehand, she probably would not have come, but now that she had, she was ready to meet my mom.
Having passed the first hurdle of this trip it was time to meet my mom, a true Irish American of somewhat questionable religious beliefs. When we arrived my mom was surprised to see me with a “live” friend, thinking my note meant only a deceased friend. We had dinner and all seemed to go rather well, and as it was time to hit the road, Carole said her thank you and goodbye, went to the car with my deceased friend to wait, while my mom pulled me aside to ask me a question.
I said my farewell and we started down the N.Y. State Thruway, all the while I am trying to figure out how to ask Carole a question that I had never considered asking anyone. I summoned up my courage and asking in as neutral a way as possible, if she was Jewish stating: “not that it mattered to me.”
Startled by that question I sensed a cautious defensiveness on her part as she asked me why I would ask. I told her that my mom said she was. Carole then asked how my mom had come to that conclusion and I told her my mom said she had a Jewish nose, which pissed Carole off because anyone who knew her would have characterized her nose as cute and quite becoming. It struck me funny that she was more offended by a comment about her nose than she was about being Jewish.
During our period of getting to know each other, I found to my delight that Carole had not only a talent for music, but also the mind of a poet. Her writings were thought provoking and inspired by her experiences within her relations with Family and friends. Carole had issues, as most of us have had, with parents, which resulted with her leaving home and with us living together.
As confident as she appeared, there was a side of her that was anxious and insecure.
Her mother was not pleased that she was with a Funeral Director wanna be, and so Carole sought out a Dr. at Roosevelt Hospital in Manhattan, to talk away any anxiety she was experiencing.
When the Dr. asked Carole about her family life she was quite forthcoming until he asked her if she was in a relationship and if so what did her boyfriend do? She told the Dr. that yes she was in a relationship and her boyfriend was studying to be a Funeral Director, at which point The Dr. asked Carole if she had a death wish. Long story short, Carole not one to suffer fools gladly, excused herself and walked out of his office never to be seen again.
Carole in this period of our life would go to little cafes in Manhattan to play guitar and read her poetry, always the bohemian, always the performer. She went back to college and earned her degree, and was a member of an exclusive club called, MENSA the requirement for membership is a score at or above the 98th percentile on intelligence tests such as the Stanford-Binet of 132 and the Cattell test of 148. the average IQ in the U.S. is 100. To say she was a smart cookie would be an understatement.
Carole was always interested in music and we would attend as many concerts as we could. One memorable concert was in Tarrytown, where her favorite artist, Judy Collins, was playing.
We had made plans to go out to eat and then go to the concert, which was a sold out performance. After the concert she was flying high with the excitement of the evening, and insisted that we wait by the stage door for Judy to exit and possibly get her autograph. We waited about 45 min.
As the parking lot emptied, waiting for Judy. Carole had planned what she was going to say but when the time came she was so tongue tied she couldn’t speak, other than to say I’m a fan.
As Judy got in her ride back to the city, Carole implored me to keep up with Judy’s ride and stay in the lane next to her on the Bronx River Pkwy, so she could see her, which was probably a little unnerving to Judy.
When our son was born that was a day to remember. For at least 2 months ,maybe more, we attended Lamaze classes where we were taught how to breathe and relax during the birthing experience. Carole had decided on natural childbirth and that’s what we prepared for. The day came and we get to the Hospital and get ushered into the labor room with a lovely, compassionate Nurse. Carole is in some discomfort, I am holding her hand asking her to breathe the way we had practiced, when she looks at me with a withering look and says…
you fuckin’ breathe!
The nurse tries to calm Carole down, meanwhile Carole looks at me and says she would like some ice, so I get up to go and get some, when Carole says without looking at the nurse..
tell her to f**king get it!
At which point the nurse calmly went and got it. When the actual birth took place Carole had a change of heart and had a pelvic block.
Life with Carole was a rollercoaster, we had our ups and downs, and eventually as so many young couples do drifted apart, but always aware that our son would be our priority, and to that end we parted ways, with as little rancor as we could muster.
Carole was complicated and could be as sweet and generous as anyone, but make no mistake, she could also become a she devil when she felt wronged.
The last years of her life were not pleasant, her quality of life was nonexistent, and were marked with periods of clarity, and more often than not, confusion. I know from my life with her, she would not have wanted to live the life she had to endure in this last year.
The one great consolation that we had, was that she was never alone as long as Jeff was with her.
For that Jeff will always be my hero.
It is a bittersweet goodbye to a woman of strength, wit, and intelligence, who never got the chance to fulfill all of her life’s ambitions. However, the one most important to her, was to be that Mother Cougar, and she achieved that.
I choose to remember fondly the good times, and not waste a moments thought on anything else.
