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| This was the view from the bay window in Carol Brady's bedroom in her former home in Suello Village, Baguio City, where I'd occasionally join a group of ladies whose many activities included praying with deep intensity. I call it former home because early Thursday morning, Carol returned to her real home, and the ladies know in whose bosom it is. I will miss Carol's kindness (the many times she drove me home on a Saturday night in foggy Green Valley and pulled me out of my own small dark corners), her erudition and generosity (no easy thing for a scholar like her to empty the contents of her private library and give them away to those in need of books and other reading materials; she bequeathed me the complete poems of John Donne and William Blake), her loving text messages that always ended with "my love to Kimi and Kai", her blue gray eyes that still shone despite thick eyeglasses. Where you are, Carol, is where I also hope to be in God's good time. Adieu, dear friend. |
Brookside Baby
Saturday, October 27, 2012
O Carol
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1 comment:
Babeth, thank you for your lovely tribute to our dear friend, Carol, who must've known all along how much she was loved and treasured by so many. I envy you and your ladies' prayer group your deep and abiding association with Carol. As for me, I should've made the effort to keep in touch with her over the years -- and I could've done so through you. Why didn't I, I now wonder and rue. I was able to write her mom, Mommy Olga, and I even spoke to her overseas, to touch base and to let her know how much she meant to me. In October 2005, at my sister Lita Hamada's wake, I told Carol about my getting in touch with her mom. Carol responded in her characteristically wise and gentle manner, both facially and verbally. Why didn't I do the same for Carol? My consolation to myself is that, anyway, Carol knew how much she meant to me, my parents, and my siblings. And in her own quiet, prescient and pelucid way, she left it at that. O Carol, indeed.
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