A Tribute to Carol Alderson Smith

By Melissa Morgan


I first met Carol under rather awkward circumstances. I helped her only daughter, Cristina, move away from home when she was 20. The issue wasn’t so much the moving away as it was the moving in, with a male-type person. Carol and Dick did not approve. They had not met me before; I think it was obvious to them that I was the bad influence that led their darling daughter down the path to sin and iniquity. Maybe they didn’t think that. What I remember is Carol’s disapproving glare as we carried furniture and stuff down the stairs. It was an intimidating look. I never saw it again, but it was not an auspicious beginning.
It turns out that Carol and Dick were right about Tina’s fledging relationship. It didn’t work out. Carol forgave me my supposed bad influence, and I was welcomed into their home whole-heartedly as all of their children’s friends were. Carol was the person I came to when I bought my home. She was generous with her advice and experience. I was buying at one of those market peaks in 1990, so I was anxious to hear Carol’s opinion. She came over to the place that is still my home, looked around, and made hmmming noises. I became more and more nervous. Carol didn’t say much about the house. Then she set all my fears to rest by telling me that the land alone was worth what I paid for it. What a relief! Carol was right, as she often was. The property value has doubled and looks likely to triple. Thanks for the good advice, Carol!
When one of our friends got married, Carol and Dick generously hosted the shower and other pre-bridal events. That was by far and away the best bridal shower I’ve ever attended—culminating with the bride being massaged by 10 friends at once—one on her hair, one hands, one feet, one shoulders, one hips. She was as blissed and relaxed as a person—especially a bride—could be. When I tried to tell Carol how much I appreciated all her hard work, she acted like it was nothing, just no big deal, all in a day’s tasks. When I insisted on being grateful, she told me, “Melissa, don’t make me throw up.” This memory still makes me smile.
That was one of the amazing, special things about Carol. She’d do the miraculous, and think nothing of it, and turn around and create a different miracle the next day. Until the last few months of her life- her energy was endless. And her attitude was,of course- “I can do that.” She could do anything, and often did.
The way she and Dick split their lives between here and Mexico, always seemed awesome to me. Carol always looked tan and fit. And she had the most gorgeous legs.
They had a birthday party for Cristina just before Carol’s illness took over. As always, Carol and Dick welcomed Cristina’s friends into their home like the family we had become. I received big hugs from both Carol and Dick and spent most of my limited time (I was on my way to a gig), hanging out in the garden with them, listening to David Kendall play the guitar. It was a nice visit. Carol was always a consummate hostess.
Carol introduced me to the Young Audience Program and was responsible for bringing harp music and harp and dance to thousands ( OK hundreds) of school children. Dick was supportive of my music in different ways- allowing me access to his formidable music collection and telling me so generously to take anything I wanted. I did; I play some wonderful, colorful things that would not have been in my repertoire without Carol and Dick’s support.
Carol’s death is harder to speak of, to write about. I don’t know whether because it is so personal or it is so recent and raw... and so beautiful. I had wanted to see Carol; we tried a number of times that didn’t work. Finally I arrived at the house on 28th, Carol was still asleep so Dick and Cristina and I had a little time together. Visiting with Carol in bed was the same as elsewhere in her home, she was gracious and charming and full of questions about how my son was doing. She liked the plant I brought- it matched the colors of her room. I had a small harp with me so I could play for her. That was nice- being able to play for her. She liked the music, my 15 minutes were up. I thought that was that, I might never see Carol again.
This was before I really understood the amazing model that Carol, Rick, Cristina and Dick had set up. They set their intention that Carol’s transition would fit into a “conscious, pain free experience.” Carol’s transition would be a healing journey- a movement into the light. Carol would go toward the light while, for all those who loved her, connected with her, came into contact with her, a personal journey of healing would occur.
The family’s collective intent and being witness to it all has changed my life and is continuing to transform me and all I connect with. It is a powerful thing, a conscious death.
The decision, the choice, not to suffer is a deep one, full of meaning. I have a chronic pain condition. What I know about suffering is hard to imagine. I’m speaking facts here, not self- pity. Carol’s process pulled me up, out of myself-out of my suffering and into service. The pain did not stop. What changed is that the physical pain didn’t stop me. It was very clear to me that if I wanted to be involved in this very special family’s transition work- it had to be now-not when I felt better and more capable of coping.
The immediacy of the issues with Carol inspired me – up and out of bed and out into the world and over to her house where my talents could be used. And they were. That 15 minute visit wasn’t the end. Not by a long shot. Carol had much more to teach me- much more to give and I soaked it all up like an empty sponge.
I got a call from Cristina the next week after my visit. I had been in touch with the family and knew that hospice was there. Cristina told me she was getting ready to put on a CD—and thought live harp music would be better. It was a Sunday; I had a wedding in the afternoon, but said I’d be over after. I asked Cristina if there was anybody there who could help me move my big pedal harp and she said “I’m here,” and we laughed. Cristina has helped me move that harp so many times over the past 29 years- so many times and so many places—starting at Scissors Crossing in the Anza Borrego Desert at the First Annual San Diego Gypsy Rising which is where Cristina and I met.
I arrived in the early evening. Cristina’s friend Mark was there – he had been playing the accordion for Carol earlier: Dick and Cristina were there and a hospice nurse. Dick and Cristina were lavish in their praise of the hospice nurses and the whole program. Hospice took on all the hard parts of the patient care and allowed the family to just be with their loved one. Carol looked different. For the first time she looked like my mother, who died of pancreatic cancer 35 years ago. 36. Amazing how you always remember your mother’s death.
I played the harp. All kinds of things- my own music felt the strongest when it was really important like when Carol would seem to get agitated or uncomfortable.
The music would seem to soothe her back down so she could rest. I played “What a Wonderful World,” for Dick with Cristina as my page turner. I’d play and we’d talk, not of cabbages and kings, but of life philosophy and things but mattered and things that didn’t. It was great to hear Dick’s perspective on things. He said that he and Carol had a simple philosophy- be good to people- be good people; then everything else would fall into place. It certainly worked for them.
On that evening, Carol didn’t come up to consciousness much, just a bit to say goodbye when Mark left and then the times of discomfort when I assured myself the music comforted her. I wondered if she would survive the night. In my perception, angel wings were thick about the place. It was interesting to have to ask them to scootch over a bit so the harp and I could find a place.
When it was time to go, an interesting thing happened that has never happened before in my life. My harp wouldn’t go home with me. It was adamant, big harp was staying right where she was. I didn’t try to argue. Cristina and Dick said they’d look after her, (I thought it might perhaps the other way around.) so I left, sans harp, and went home.
The next day when I went over I got to play for a very conscious and aware Carol. I played and told stories about when and where I wrote the piece and where Cristina was. It was a musical retrospective; Carol was awake and aware and making gracious comments. It lasted about 20 minutes, which was a really long time for these circumstances. Carol went to sleep and I got to stay for a lovely lunch with Dick and Cristina and Sanford. When we left, big harp stayed.
The next time I saw Carol was the last time, on the day before she died. This time was harder; hospice had left- saying that she was stable. This left the family dealing with personal care issues, which were difficult. Carol was a real trooper though- patient and helpful with Cristina’s and my somewhat inept attempts to get her comfortable. Nurses we are not.
The music this time was different. I can’t explain; it just was. I had already said my goodbyes- what felt like weeks ago. I will always be grateful that when I asked Carol for kisses, she puckered right up. There was sweetness to Carol at the end of her life that was different than the very professional person she was before. She was always warm and gracious, the consummate hostess, the perfect guest. Just before she died, she was extremely and amazingly, touchingly and startling sweet. For that sweetness I shall always be grateful. And I am grateful that I got to be embraced by this wonderful family at this important time of transition. They really let me in, and I became part of the process rather than an outsider observing.
All of this seems sort of reasonable, and yet the underlying subtext shows a very different picture. A month ago I could not have done any of this. A month ago I was at death’s door myself- at risk of starvation, unable to get down the stairs in my house to the kitchen. I was sicker than I can possibly describe, in absolute agonizing pain constantly, with no end in sight.
What changed? I did. I decided to embrace my life, pain and all, and do what I wanted and needed to do in spite of the pain. Staying in bed wasn’t getting me anywhere. Rest wasn’t helping, it was making me worse. It was hard to see that when I couldn’t make it up out of bed – but sometimes you just have to crawl, if that is what it takes.
There’s a reason I’m sharing this personal, rather embarrassing information. Carol’s dying was truly a miracle in my own life. Her need spoke to me, pulled me up out of my own morass and challenged me to live again- no matter how hard it is. There were times when I felt like telling Carol, “Scoot over, I’m coming with you.”
Cristina, Dick, Carol and Rick set up a profoundly healing concept for Carol’s transition; it included the words pain free. Those are powerful words. I’m a long way from being pain-free, but I was able to participate in this amazing process. And it was an amazing process.
Cristina called me at 7:30 Friday morning to tell me that Carol had passed peacefully and quietly Thursday night in the beautiful home that she loved so much. What a gift to be able to die at home surrounded by loving family and friends!
I went over Friday morning and found myself spinning, spinning, and spinning in place where Carol’s bed had been. The energy was so powerful I had to move with it to acknowledge it. For the first time since I brought my harp there. I was allowed to put down my things and sit at the table as opposed to going directly to the harp and playing. Make no mistake- I did play the harp that morning- I played it full out in a way I have never played before. Without Carol there, my harp had a different set of priorities. The piece that the harp required me to play full out was a classical piece by Handel. It was amazing to hear it fill up the house. This time, the harp went away with me—good thing since I had a gig that afternoon playing for High Tea at the Grand Del Mar.
I miss Carol. I know many people will. She was the Mom I didn’t have. Her feedback and gentle encouragement helped me through many hard times. My lifelong friendship with her daughter, Cristina is a true treasure I greatly appreciate. Dick continues to make me feel welcome in his home and his life, so I know the story doesn’t stop here.
Carol touched so many lives; I know the outpouring of love and appreciation has only just begun. I have plans to set aside part of my garden, which I call Quan Yin’s Healing Garden, as a memorial to Carol. The Carol Alderson Smith Memorial Garden- has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?
Like many, I loved Carol and will miss her. I know we hold all our loved ones, living and dead in our hearts. As we remember them, they live again and smile upon us for wherever they are. Stay ever joyful Carol. I love you.