Carole’s Christmas letter has been the first one to arrive for decades, so I noticed when it wasn’t this year. Her signature looked unsteady. Reading the letter confirmed my fears: “I was diagnosed with ALS, Lou Gehrig disease, last January, and have been in a wheelchair since July.”
Carole and I became best of friends when we lived at the Navy base in Yokosuka, Japan, about an hour’s train ride south of Tokyo. Our husbands were stationed on ships that were deployed about 85% of the time, so we wives depended on each other for many things. Her son, John, was one of my son’s two best friends there; they were all in 3rd and 4th grade. If I wanted to travel to meet my husband somewhere, Carole would keep Kelly. And I did the same for her, of course. Fortunately, the ships were on different schedules.
Much to her surprise and joy, Carole became pregnant. I kept John while she gave birth. I treasure the Lladro statue of a mother and baby she gave me as a thank you. We were co-leaders of our sons’ cub scout troop, too, despite both of us having jobs.
My husband and I ended up in Pensacola, Florida, while Ken and Carole chose Colorado Springs. Several years ago, while visiting Colorado, the four of us joined up for a Sunday brunch (feast!) at the Broadmoor resort. We had planned to get rendezvous again three years ago when we were there for Christmas, but a big storm dumped too much snow for anyone to drive, so we could only talk on the phone. Little did I know that would be our last chance. I called her in December, but she had difficulty talking, so the call didn’t last long.
Carole died in January, almost exactly one year after her diagnosis. I’m trying to absorb the loss, while also recognizing how much my life was enriched by her friendship. Godspeed, Carole.
by Kathleen Vestal Logan, MS, MA February 19, 2018