Carol's Eulogy
By Eric Buckley
It is not possible to do justice even to an ordinary life in the
time we have here today. And, as we all know, Carol's was no
ordinary life. In the case of Carol, this summation is
particularly difficult because hers was not a life characterized
by singular grand achievements. Rather, it was a continuous
string of good works - brightening the lives of those around her
just a bit each day.
It didn't matter if she was on stage or not, Carol's mission was
always to make every situation better by her presence. Whether
that be meeting with students, working the circulation desk,
having dinner with her family, or simply hanging out with
friends, Carol turned each activity into an event.
Despite knowing her for her entire life and feeling closer to her
than anyone else in the world save my wife and daughter, this
simple fact of Carol's life was not obvious to me until recently.
As big brothers often do, I fretted that Carol wasn't taking her
career seriously or that she wasn't saving enough for retirement.
It wasn't until she became sick that I realized how wrong I was.
The tributes that many of you have sent in to the Carol's Team
web site do not speak of grand accomplishments. Rather, they
speak of moments when Carol made that connection and added
a small, but very real dose of happiness to your life. One would
expect to gather a few of these, but when a few become dozens,
it speaks to a life committed to something we don't think about
that much: joy.
Joy is not merely a state of pleasure. Most of us are quite adept
at tending to that. Joy is the result of two or more people
opening themselves to each other and delighting in the union.
Carol's gift was that she could do this with almost anybody.
She immediately put people at ease. Her vulnerability was
disarming. Occasionally, she would pay a price for this, but far
more often, she would make a new friend.
Most of us accumulate material through life. Carol accumulated
good will. When she found herself wanting, she had no need for
possessions. What she needed was friendship, and that she had.
The reaction of those around her was a far stronger statement
about the quality of her life than anything I could say here. It
would be hard to find a better example of living according to
Christ's admonition to "worry not about what you will wear or
what you will eat, for the pagans chase after such things and
your heavenly father knows that you need them."
In a society that increasingly focuses on personal achievement,
such a life of service can go unnoticed. Yet it is these small
things that bind us together with the love that brings us to
respond to tragedies such as this. It's a genuine smile when a
simple "thank you" would do. A hug when a handshake would
do. A tear when "I'm sorry" would do. These small things were
regular parts of Carol's repertoire and they were delivered with
such effortless grace that even those who barely knew her felt a
warmth they rarely experienced even from close friends.
Of course, while her good works may have escaped the
attention of those not on the receiving end, everybody noticed
Carol. Through 35 years of performance, Carol touched
thousands of people. As her considerable skills matured, she
never became elitist. She was equally comfortable performing
with professionals or amateurs. To enter Carol's ever-increasing
circle, you merely had to join the party.
The most remarkable aspect of this was how she could muster
such an entourage without invoking envy. While Carol did like
the spotlight, she reflected its warmth completely. Perhaps this
is why Carol was never particularly interested in recorded
performance. The stage was not merely a venue for artistic
expression, it was an opportunity to connect with an audience -
to invite them to enter her world and learn to really feel life.
Few of us are so bold. Such romanticism wasn't widely
practiced even by the Romantics. It is even less prevalent today.
Yet, if we lack the ability to follow her example, we are still the
better for seeing the example; for knowing that such a life is not
only possible - it is rich.
A life...
Where she ran back on stage to blow kisses to her very
first audience.
Where five pounds of Halloween candy would be gone
after just three days because it was more fun to share it
with friends than eat it alone.
Where she would pay her older bother a week's
allowance to walk her across the street to buy more
candy.
Where she was routinely thrown out of libraries for
talking too loud.
Where she turned down the lead role in The Wizard of
Oz because the Scarecrow offered so much more
opportunity.
Where she resisted training up from Alto to Soprano
because she so loved singing harmonies.
Where she took a job as a librarian, and was warned
about talking too loud.
Where she held leading roles in dozens of productions.
Where she created new opportunities for expression, co-
founding Women's Works and the Brooktondale Barn
Show.
Where she was tapped to perform for major Cornell
donors, which went a long way toward excusing her
talking too loud at work.
Where, despite filling the requirements, she never did get
her Equity card because she didn't want to give up
performing with her amateur friends.
Where, after losing the ability to talk too loud, she was
given the Outstanding Performance Award from the
Cornell Library System.
Where a lifelong dream of traveling to Italy was fulfilled
by the generosity of her friends.
Where she was one of the last people to receive a
personal blessing from Pope John Paul II.
Where over 100 people signed up to help care for her
during her final months.
Where thousands of dollars have been raised in her name
to build a new generation of communication devices for
ALS patients.
Where her 2-year-old niece calls out her name wondering
when she will see Carol again.
As was fitting for a soprano, Carol's greatest performance was
a death scene - her own. It was passionate, it was tragic, and all
of us in the audience wished it was us and not her. Yet even at
this gravest hour, Carol could not contain the humor that had
sustained her through life. During the final months, she
remained upbeat - always happy to visit with friends and
determined not to let the unfairness of it all overcome her. One
of her biggest fears was that she would lose the ability to smile.
Even after all other forms of communication had been taken
from her, she was still able to flash the smile that so many of us
fell in love with.
So today we should cry. Not for Carol, but for ourselves
because we have suffered a great loss. But we should also
dance, sing, eat, and, most importantly, laugh. Because Carol is
no longer here to do it for us.
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