Remembering Carol

Carol and me 

It's taken me a long time to write this post, because I so desperately needed it to be perfect. There was a lot of personal debriefing that took place surrounding the death of my aunt Carol, because her death was the first of my family and friends in which I had been personally involved. Having helped numerous patients achieve comfortable deaths throughout my 21-year nursing career, I went into Carol's death assuming that it would feel much the same. I don't know why I thought that. It was absolutely nothing like the deaths of my patients, for a variety of reasons that I won't get into during this post, but I guess the easiest way to sum it up is that you don't know what you don't know until you're learning the lesson. Even though it was a difficult lesson, I'm so grateful that Carol trusted me to be there for her for her last request, which was to have a comfortable death in her sleep.  

On July 20th of this year, my aunt Carol peacefully passed away in her home, with her daughter Tiffany, her son Clint, her granddaughter Katrina, and me nearby. Carol had been diagnosed with aggressive terminal lung cancer in May, and had chosen not to treat it. That's all I'm going to say about that right now, as the story of her death is a story for another time, or maybe a story that I keep for myself. This post is about her life, and what an interesting life she had! 

Carol and her daughter Tiffany, wearing purple for Pancreatic Cancer Awareness. Carol's husband Bob passed away from pancreatic cancer in 2016.

Carol was born April 17, 1945 in New Ulm, MN. If you haven't been, New Ulm is a super cute little town in south central Minnesota that has always had a large Germanic population. Carol grew up on a farm with her siblings Dee, Marie, Paul, Perry, and Philip. Their last name is Ziegenhagen, which doesn't get much more German than that!

Bob and Carol on their wedding day 1968

On somewhat of a whim, Carol up and moved to Colorado Springs after high school, which is incredible given the times (1960's) and the fact that small-town women from rural Minnesota weren't exactly striking out on their own like that in those days. Makes her somewhat of a kindred spirit for me, and makes me love her all the more for being a pioneering, independent woman. While she was in Colorado Springs, she met my uncle Bob, who was in the Air Force. Apparently the story goes that there were a couple gals from Russia living in Colorado at the time, who happened to know both Bob and Carol. The gals decided that these two Minnesotans ought to be together, and introduced them. They were married in November of 1968 in Oklahoma. As befits the life of a military wife, Carol lived all over the country as Bob was reassigned to different bases. They were living in Kansas when their son Clint was born in 1972. After Kansas, they moved to a tiny little Athabaskan village along the Yukon River called Galena, Alaska, where Carol traded goods from the lower 48 for real rabbit fur mukluks for her family. After Alaska they spent some time in Minnesota, then Texas, then Illinois, then a 15-month road trip across the entire United States to celebrate Bob's retirement from the Air Force, then back to San Angelo, Texas where they'd lived since Bob retired. In December of 1985, just days before Christmas in San Angelo, Bob and Carol welcomed their daughter Tiffany into the world. Carol's husband Bob passed away in February of 2016 of pancreatic cancer.

Carol with son Clint, son-in-law Hiram, granddaughter Katrina, Angel (the dog), and daughter Tiffany

Bob and Carol were quite the couple. Bob was a big man with a shock of unruly hair and a big bushy beard, frequently towering over everyone in the room. Not only was he physically big, but he had a big presence about him as well. During his quiet moments, which were often, you could always tell he was contemplating something. What Bob said, usually went...except for Carol. Carol was about my size, maybe even smaller, but she stood up to Bob like you wouldn't believe. It was actually kind of funny to watch, to be honest. I certainly was never going to put Bob in his place, but she didn't hesitate. Where Bob could be aloof and quiet, Carol was warm hugs and conversation filled with laughter. Carol always wanted to be right in the thick of it, and her presence made every gathering just that much better. Carol loved nothing more than a good Ellringer gathering. The Ellringers are my huge, loud, crazy-in-a-mostly-good-way family on my mom's side. A typical gathering is usually about 25-50 people and it's always an experience. There is usually lots of food, lots of booze, lots of card playing, lots of children and usually some dogs running around, and lots of shouting, as everyone struggles to be heard above the eating, drinking, cards, children, and dogs; hearing loss has not improved the volume issues. It's a hoot. I feel like a lot of the people who have married into the family are immediately overwhelmed by the boisterous Ellringers (Simon can attest to this fact), but Carol never seemed to bat an eye. She got right into the melee like she'd been there all along. We will be having a memorial for her next summer, and while the day will be all about celebrating her and what she meant to all of us, her absence will be heavy.

Carol in one of her many puffy coats

I personally got to know Carol really well during the summers that she and Bob came up to Minnesota to stay with my parents in an effort to escape the heat of west Texas. Even during the heat waves and humidity of the Minnesota summers, Carol was never far from her puffy jacket. If she forgot to pack a puffy jacket (a rarity), she was usually able to get a screaming deal on a new one because who buys puffy jackets in Minnesota in the summer? Carol. Carol does. I remember one year she came up with an ankle-length puffy jacket, and she definitely wore it. She would wear that puffy jacket on the deck in the morning while she had her morning coffee and cigarette. She would usually take it off at some point during the day, but as soon as the sun started getting low in the sky, out came the jacket. It was always funny to us that this woman who was born and raised in Minnesota, who had also lived in Alaska, moved to Texas and somehow found 90 degrees with 80% humidity to be cold. It was rare to see Carol in short sleeves, and rarer still to see her in a tank top. Now that I'm thinking about it, I don't think I ever saw her in a tank top or even shorts. 

Me wearing a dress that Carol had made

Carol was an amazing practical seamstress. It was funny, when I was in Texas over the summer helping her get dressed, I noticed that she had sewn shut the button plackets on all of her pajama shirts. And well, why not? I certainly have never buttoned up the front of my own pajama top, I just pull it over my head. As did she, and she went one step further by making sure the placket always stayed closed by sewing it shut. Brilliant. She made clothes, she made blankets, she hemmed pants, she mended holes and tears, she made bumpers for her grandbabies' cribs. I remember her joking with me years ago that the reason she had to mend the seats of men's pants so often is because they fart too much. I about died. I had asked her a few years ago to show me how to use a sewing machine; she lost me at loading the bobbin...hahaha! It's not that she wasn't a good teacher, it's that I'm a terrible student, and sewing is hard. It's an art honed over time that takes patience and a willingness to not be good at it for a while. I still don't know how to sew, but maybe that's something to put on my list of things to honor Carol for this year. Or next year. Next year might be a good time to start a new hobby 

Carol was always happy to cook for the Ellringer Clan

When I think about Carol, what comes to mind the most is how she was everyone's biggest champion. There was no feat too big or too small that she wasn't proud of. If she knew about anyone's accomplishments, there was no doubt she would talk about them to all who would listen. Her son Clint has had a long career in the Navy, her daughter Tiffany is about the kindest person you will ever meet. Her grandchildren are sweet, kind, and compassionate, and were the best part of her day no matter what kind of a day she was having. When I went to Texas to help her this summer, Carol wasted no time telling everyone that I was her niece from Arizona who was a nurse. The same went for Simon. Not that she had ever seen us in action in a hospital setting, but to Carol we were the best nurses there ever were.

Carol loved visits from her family. Here she in San Angelo with her daughter Tiffany, son-in-law Hiram, and Dave and Cheryl Ellringer

That's just how she was with everyone; she was the perfect mama bear. She loved her family fiercely and she defended them just as fiercely. There was no distance too far for her to travel to be amongst those she held near and dear. She was there to pick you up when you fell, and would make sure to support you through the lesson that caused the stumble, be it physical, mental, emotional, or motivational. Her family also didn't just extend to her children and her husband; once you were in Carol's orbit, you became her family. Her hugs where real hugs too. None of this pat on the back, barely embracing stuff; if you hugged Carol, you were in it until she decided the hugging was complete. For such a small woman, she had an incredibly strong hug. Carol might have lived most of her life in Texas, but the love that we all bore her from all over the country surrounded her always. The amount of cards she got when I was there over the summer was so heart warming. So many people sending their well wishes, and she read every single one. When she got too tired to read them herself, we read them to her while she sat in her chair with a smile on her face, no doubt thinking of fond memories with the person who had sent the card. I can only hope she knew how loved she was, and how greatly she will be missed.

Carol trimming Bob's mustache when he was in the hospital. He was grousing, but you can still see the love in his eyes. He loved her so very much. 

This year will be the first year that I won't get a Christmas card from Carol. She had faithfully kept up with all my address changes over the years as I moved from place to place. I remember the gut punch I had when the first Christmas card from her arrived after her husband Bob had passed away, and it was just her name on the card instead of both their names. Now I won't get one at all. I thought of that after she had passed and we found some Christmas cards that she had written out; they were addressed and stamped and ready to go. In a moment of morbid humor, my cousin Clint and I briefly discussed dropping them in the mailbox (we didn't, in the end, figuring that might be a little too traumatizing for the recipients). I think the takeaway is that she had such a huge network of people that maybe she just tinkered around with writing Christmas cards all year round. Carol wanted to celebrate everyone she held near and dear as much as she could. When she found out Simon and I had gotten married, she immediately got her address book out and wrote down our date, both the actual date and our observed date, as neither Simon nor I can remember the actual date and choose to celebrate on April 1st, because that's a day we can both remember. We found her address book and pocket calendar after she had passed, and it was full of all the names and places and significant dates of all her important people. 

Carol with Tiffany on her wedding day, son Clint and granddaughter Katrina

A friend of mine told me a while back that when someone dies, all their stories die with them. A part of me broke inside a little bit when I heard that, because it's so very true. In June, when a bunch of our family rallied to Texas after Carol's diagnosis, we recorded her telling stories about her life. It was such a special time to be there and hear her telling us about some of the things she'd done, the places she'd been, the people with whom she'd spent her time. Her children and family will cherish those recordings for years to come. I found myself wishing I had done that with my grandparents before they passed; what great stories they must have had about growing up without electricity or cars, serving in World War 2, the places they went and the experiences they had; all of those stories died with them, and photographs are notoriously silent. If sharing stories with Carol has taught me anything, it's that we should be recording the experiences of those we love, and it doesn't have to be at the end of their lives. You can do it any time. This isn't a shameless plug for StoryWorth, but if you have the ability or the desire to do it, please do...it's a great interactive way for your friends and families to tell their stories, and you just might hear some you haven't heard before. I have a book on my shelf with years and years of some of my mom's stories, and I cherish it. The StoryWorth service asked her questions that I probably wouldn't have thought to ask, and she was very candid with her stories. Some were hard to read, some were sad, some were funny, some were heartwarming, but the important takeaway is that I have them, and I get to keep them.

Simon and I brought Carol Arby's when we visited in June...it was her favorite, and the Arby's in San Angelo had closed. She was stoked. :)

I think Carol would be happy with this writing. She'd be proud of me regardless, and were she here, she'd correct me on a few things that maybe I got wrong or could be worded differently. She had this funny little look that she'd get on her face when she was sharing a private joke...she'd pucker up her lips, scrunch up her nose, and give you a wide-eyed side-eye to let you know what she thought without saying a single word, followed by a huge knowing smile. I got that look a lot in her final days, mostly because I had trouble switching between niece-mode and nurse-mode, but she was right there letting me know. Even in her disagreement, I could still feel her love. I'm going to miss that silly little look, but most of all the woman who wore it so effortlessly that it made us love her all the more. What I wouldn't give to have her throw me that sassy little look just one more time. Until we meet again.