I Miss Caroline
October 8, 2009 by Patrick Madrid
Filed under Patrick's Blog
Caroline Schermerhorn, a longtime writer for Envoy Magazine, died of cancer on September 11, 2009. A young wife and mother of six, she was always happy and laughing and cheerfully at the center of so many circles of family, friends, and parish life.
It Doesn’t Get Any Better Than This!
By Caroline Schermerhorn
As I write this column, I am tucked away in an elegant two-room suite at a northern Michigan golf resort. It is a cloudy, but temperate, 50 degrees outside. Between the lovely gas fireplace in our suite, and an inviting hot tub in the bathroom, some romance and relaxation are a sure bet this weekend.Having never swung a golf club, I don’t have the usual kind of appreciation for the legendary Weiskopf“Legend” course outside the sliding glass doors. However, there is something exceptionally beautiful about having breakfast while overlooking the eighteenth hole.
We got here last night after a pleasant eight-hour drive, just my husband and I. No Barney tapes, no extra potty stops. I didn’t even have to share my drink. We grooved to classic rock, drove for hours without stopping, and guzzled one $2.00 iced cappuccino after another. The car was uncommonly clean, the back seat empty except for our suitcases and a hanging bag with an elegant party dress, suit, and tie. We drank in our old camaraderie, telling jokes, sharing stories, or just holding hands and thinking to the familiar beat of the windshield wipers.
I was in seventh heaven.
“This is the life,” I thought.
When we arrived at the resort, we were seated to a candlelit dinner, tucked away in the dim corner of an elegant restaurant. A talented pianist tinkled the ivories of a shiny black grand piano.
“… and what will you have, young lady?” I looked into the decidedly young eyes of a well-dressed waiter. Young lady? I felt like royalty.
No dishes, no crises. I didn’t even have to get up from dinner to find the second ketchup bottle deep in the recesses of the refrigerator. Could anything be so luxurious? “This is the life,” I breathed, sipping a before-dinner drink from a fine crystal glass.
This morning, my husband has a couple of meetings to attend, so I’m alone until lunch time. Completely, gloriously, and unapologetically alone. I sink into the sofa, pour myself a soda, choose an old black and white movie, and settle in for an after breakfast cat nap. With no other person “home” at the moment, I have no needs to look after – except my own. A bubble bath? A quiet bike ride?
This is the life!
We stay up late and sleep in later all weekend long.
By Sunday, I feel just about as relaxed as I’ve ever been. The smell of morning inspires me to sketch and write as I relax.
Our ride home is equally delightful. We thoroughly enjoy that easy-going, conversational, uninterrupted mode of sharing that we had when we first met.
Once home, it’s time to pick up the children from the various friends who took them in for the weekend. One stop at a time, the six children and their luggage crowd the van, which has been so empty since Friday.
Happy to see each other, hugs and kisses go all around. Almost instantly, the calendar is out, and we are trying to figure out the following day’s schedule. Little League practice was moved up a day, and play rehearsal occurs in the same inning. Dinner needs to be made, bath times scheduled, and laundry cleaned.
Our solitude is a memory of yesterday. The time alone, focused on the eyes of my beloved, is just another twinkle to reminisce over.
Later, in the twilight of the evening, I smell the clean blond curls of my youngest. I savor the sounds of laughing and screaming from the trampoline. I immerse myself in the thoughts voiced by my lovely teenage daughters.
Bedtime hastens. One at a time, I feel the sweet closeness of six goodnight hugs. The eldest disappears up the stairs. The day is over, and I’m ready for bed, too.
But wait, there is one more to attend to… the six-year-old has slipped back downstairs for “one more hug.” His breath is warm on my ear as he whispers, “Mommy, Imissedyou.” >
Thisis the life.
Chris, thank you very much for adding a comment. My heartfelt condolences go out to you and all in your family.
I'd like to talk with you by phone sometime. Just let me know by e-mail when that would be feasible. Thanks.
I think the important thing is to keep the memory alive – that we long to see Caroline again – that this longing propel’s us down the road of our faith – that we would become more like Jesus.
Caroline is my sister – it is so strange to begin to think – about her – and want to call her – but be unable to.
One huge consolation – is during adoration – or during the Eucharistic liturgy of the Mass – I say to myself, “Caroline – you and I are doing the same thing right now. I can not see you – but I know that you are worshiping the true presence of Jesus Christ – just as I am. We are doing this adoration together!”
This helps me to be united with my sister for now, and in the future – I pray that I can be united with her forever!
Thanks for being such a great friend, and boss to my sister. She often told me of the silly conversations she would have with you and the Envoy staff. Having fun – while doing work in the Lord’s Vineyard. God Bless, Chris
i didn't even know her and i am sitting here crying like a baby. the thought of her children growing up without her is just…
i hope that some of her literary gifts remain behind, special ones that can comfort her family and friends and especially her children in the days to come. i will pray for them, that, the time that passes will wear away the sharp edges of the pain of separation, and her legacy of love is all that remains.
This is beautiful – the tribute and her writing. But the sadness that she is not here on earth with her family any longer.
It does get better, much better for her, but for her family – I pray that they will know the grief that is filled with hope. May they have those around them and surrounding them with love and support.
Blessings,
Teri