My Friend Carol
I avoid obituaries.
I have a keen ability to take on other people's pain and make it my own, so reading tributes to loved ones lost usually leaves me dabbing at my eyes.
So when my friend Kristin (my compatriot from the days when I owned Tom Foolery) called me to tell me that our customer and friend from the store, Carol Conley, had passed away, I was unprepared. Kristin called last week, and I am only now able to write this. I've had the time, but not the heart.
Carol was well-known around areas of north Chico. She put many, many miles on her electric wheelchair, making the rounds among her favorite shopping venues. There, I said it. The first thing a person would notice about Carol was the wheelchair that kept her active in the world, but while the chair set parameters for her, it did not define who Carol was.
Carol was a wife, mother, and grandmother. She had a life of her own, however; I never saw her out and about with anyone else. I believe she was fiercely independent about her comings and goings. There were days, I know, when Carol could not leave her house. She never complained -- not to me, anyway. When she could leave the house, she took full advantage of her mobility, coming in to shop or just chat in my store, in K-Mart, the Chico Christian Book Center, and several other places I knew she frequented. She even took the bus downtown on Friday nights to attend the Friday night concerts in the downtown plaza. That took effort, guts and probably a stubborn streak.
Carol and I had a system when she made a purchase: I retrieved her wallet from her purse, wrote her check for her, entered the check in her register, and then she signed it. The car accident Carol had suffered at the age of sixteen left her hands and arms quite limited, but she could sign her name to her check. I was honored to be trusted digging around in her wallet like that, and over the years we built a nice friendship on that trust and respect.
On days when Carol stayed in, she brought the world into her home through her computer. Typing, I imagine, would have been difficult for her, but surely not as difficult as using a mouse. In any case, Carol preferred to type commands without the benefit of Windows, she told me; she much preferred DOS. I can barely spell DOS, much less have any idea how to use it.
Carol loved a computer fantasy game that she played on-line, making friends literally all around the world. She kept up with their lives, and once shared some pictures with me that had been sent to her from some far-flung acquaintance. (This was maybe ten years ago, when I could e-mail with my computer, and that was about it.) She also collected post cards from around the world. Now, no one wants postcards from Orland, but I asked my parents to bring home a few postcards from some of their overseas travels, to give to Carol.
There were bad days, occasionally, when Carol was very quiet, or tense, even grumpy. Sometimes her medication seemed to bother her. But for all that, she was out in the world, running her errands, living a life.
Since closing my store six years ago I've seen Carol only once or twice, but we used to send each other e-mail jokes. They've been slowing down recently, and come to think of it, I haven't heard from her in a while. We were casual friends, but casual friends who went way back.
I have enormous respect and admiration for the way Carol lived fully, within the boundaries her life had handed her, maybe even pushing them some. To her husband, children, and grandchildren I extend my condolences and best wishes. I will miss Carol.
