When Carly and I were among strangers, we would sometimes hold hands, gaze into each other’s eyes as if newlyweds, and tell gawkers: “It’s ok. We’ve only been married two days. We’ll get over it.” Of course, we never did—not in 26 years of marriage.
My wife was an easy love, affectionate, caring, loyal, even-tempered, and almost always logical: we discussed rather than argued. But in many ways, albeit not the very most important ones such as values, we were opposites. Perhaps our real-life Love Story can offer a little hope in this era of widening chasms of class, ethnicity, religion, and geography.
I was a D.C. area native raised in Fairfax County, Virginia, on its way back then to becoming an upper-middle-class citadel. Carly had grown up in Conover, North Carolina, a little blue-collar town known partly for the NASCAR auto racers from there. She worshipped all things Southern except for the bigotry, which she abhored. Not that the North was perfect. We agreed to disagree over the Confederate flag. Same over food. The more fried it was, the more Carly savored it. I was a health-fixated lactovegetarian.
She loved not only Jane Austen novels but also bodice-rippers with Fabio-chested men on the covers. I read Sinclair Lewis, say, or Philip Roth or, more commonly, staid nonfiction. She watched network TV reruns. I favored MSNBC and quirky movies on Netflix. Carly enjoyed classic rock. Me, too, but also baroque.
Carly was Methodist, complete with a minister brother-in-law. I was Jewish. Never, though, did religion come between Carly and me. Values above all! The Rev. William Draughn and I enjoyed many talks and walks together despite opposite political views. Both of us, regardless of our different beliefs, hated the cruelty that the American plutocracy had inflicted on the rest of the country. I’m looking forward to another hike with Bill up Stone Mountain in the Blue Ridge Range.
Sometimes Bill joked about my wife’s “Hebrew name.” “Carly” was not her original name—she loved to sing and picked up her new one from the pop star Carly Simon, while noting that it could mean “little” or “womanly.” Her favorite Simon song was “You Belong to Me.” Carly Rothman disliked “Tommie Nell” even though she was meticulous in using it in doctors’ offices since it was her legal name. Her parents had named her Tommie because they liked the sound of it; perhaps they also appreciated the overlap with her father’s name, Tom. But “Tommie” just wasn’t feminine enough for Carly even with the ie instead of a y. I couldn’t have cared less. I would have loved her by any name. Out of respect for her family, when visiting Carolina, phoning or emailing, I always tried to say “TN” or “Tommie Nell.” By law, a certain percentage of Southern newborns each year must bear double names.
Telecommuting for an education association, Carly was the same as toward me: likable, considerate, empathetic. Her bosses relished her swiftness in learning new software—she lived up to her maiden name, “Sharpe”—but complained she spent too much time on individual calls helping the association’s members. I wouldn’t have wanted Carly any other way. I preferred a caring friend and lover, not a heel-clicking careerist. Even in a business sense, it would have been better to let Carly be Carly, given all the people she charmed in the service of her employer with both her beautiful voice and her Tar Heel friendliness. That said, the newlywed shtick notwithstanding, she tended to be far more of an extrovert on the phone than in person, and definitely not a partier.
For medical reasons but perhaps also by temperament, Carly even was teetotaler. I was, too. Call me in that way an honorary traditional Methodist. She herself was an honorary Jew fond of the related humor and cuisine. Her biggest weakness was macaroons.
Physical attraction? Of course. Carly’s hair was long and thick, and she stood 6’1″ in her prime. I enjoyed being vicariously tall. She overdid “zaftig”—I worried about her health and urged her to diet—but I’ve always believed that feminine beauty can defy American stereotypes. Carly’s pale skin was that of a woman decades younger, a miracle of wrinkleless.
Due to Carly’s delicate health, we never had children. But our stuffed animals were very articulate, and when she and I disagreed, they generally took her side. Allergy-ridden, Carly couldn’t enjoy the companionship of a real dog or cat. Dander from the Golden Retriever that she owned, before our marriage, had sent her to the emergency room and almost killed her. Toward the end of her life, she would watch the Kitten Rescue webcam site out of Los Angeles, keeping up with all the gossip about each cat’s health and odds of adoption. I’ve always been a rotten recaller of human faces. But from several thousand miles away, Carly knew her kittens cold.
Carly loved high technology and the online world, which helped us get to know each other in depth, while she was living in Arizona, before we even met face to face. When she lacked access to a printer needed to turn in a school paper on time, I faxed her professor a copy of her email. She favored ebooks over paper ones and held cards to enjoy the digital offerings of three library systems. Carly owned a Nexus 7, on which she displayed OverDrive books in boldface using an older app (when will the newer Libby get a bold option?). She liked the ability to blow up the type. Tired most of the time from fibromyalgia in her last years, she could stretch out in bed and change the pages with less effort than a paper book required. I wish the anti-ebookers could understand what digital library books meant to my wife.
Not so coincidentally, Carly was on my mind in the early 1990s when I begin pushing for a national digital library system and dirt-cheap gadgets to read ebooks with, so that even Americans in the poorest Southern hamlets could pick from millions of titles. The library campaign goes on today on the LibraryEndowment.org site. Certain members of our academic and social elites laudably care about “digital preservation” but not quite so much about the nuts and bolts to let the masses share the riches and improve their lot. Some even want public libraries to back off from popular-level books, the very stuff that in digital format helped sustain my sick wife when she was unable to visit the stacks. A gift in Carly’s memory will be made to our public library here in Alexandria, Virginia, to increase its ebook collection.
Would that the super rich valued public, K-12 and academic libraries as much as others do! All the library endowments in the U.S. total only several billion or so. Harvard’s endowment alone is worth some $36 billion. Bill Gates and other Ivy-educated philanthropists would do well to remember the Carlys, donate far more than now to public libraries, and resist their gentrification, which could diminish tax support or at least their effectiveness as literacy-spreaders. Yes, public libraries are for education. But they are also for entertainment, often a first step toward the former. I was disappointed, then, when one preppie said libraries might have to get out of the bestseller business. No, sir—not at all if the elite will only care. Gates, far smarter and more enlightened than the typical billionaire but out of touch for now with his fellow Americans’ reading needs, is actually cutting back on his library philanthropy when instead he could be Carnegie II for real. Even better, this $85-billion man could be a Carnegie supporting a multi-donor library endowment.
Class conflicts, of course, rage on most everywhere in American life. But our marriage transcended them. The Rothmans were white-collar people. Carly’s father, Tom Sharpe, was a union electrician who almost lost a good part of his retirement benefits at GE due to cutbacks there. My late mother-in-law, Annie, worked in dusty textile mills despite her asthma. Carly could have thrived at Duke University, Melissa Gates’ alma mater, but her high school teachers and counselors never gave her the encouragement that the daughter of a well-off family might have enjoyed. The Duke dream died. Carly thought at one point of becoming a librarian, and sometimes I wondered if she read Jane Austen with “might have beens” in mind.
Even as an alum of an obscure community college, Carly was still a catch for me. Her emotional intelligence, along with the EQs of her parents, her sister, Kay, and The Reverend Bill, was off the charts. They got along flawlessly with difficult me, after all; what better recommendation? Simply put, the Sharpe family was an in-law joke in reverse. Other positives abounded. Kay was a gifted amateur artist who also shared Carly’s knack for gadgets and, in fact, worked as a computer programmer for a bank until a disability forced her to quit. Logical minds ran in the family. So much alike in many ways, the two sisters could spend hours and hours talking on the phone.
Sunday morning, at Capital Caring Hospice in Arlington, Virginia, it all ended for Carly and me—our happy times together, the newlywed shtick, the shared passion for ebooks, and the rest of the marriage. Carly was a mere 61. The normal survival period for pancreatic cancer, after diagnosis, which generally happens too late, is months or even weeks; that’s about how long it took her father to die of the the disease after learning his fate. Same for one of my favorite Southern writers, Pat Conroy. But Carly lasted two and a half years thanks to her oncologist, Dr. Ivan Aksentijevich, her radiologist, Harold Agbahiwe, her gastroenterologist, Frank Procaccino, her internist, Scott Whittaker, her physical therapist, Chaney Hindman, and the vigilant nurse case managers we hired, Liz Shifflett and Suzanne Hanas. Not all pancreatic cancer is the same. But as a lay person I truly believe that the high-quality care Carly received made a difference. This week or next, my family and I will scatter Carly’s ashes off the coast of Ocean City, Maryland, in line with her wishes for cremation and the sea.
R.I.P. my dear Carly. I hope that your eternal life is like the happiest moments in a Mayberry RFD rerun and that you can eat all the Jimmy Dean sausage biscuits you want without gaining an ounce.
David I’m very sorry for your loss, Carly sounds like a wonderful person.
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i am so sorry for you Loss
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@Ellen and @Kevin: Thanks so much for your sympathy. I’m missing Carly terribly.
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I am so sorry to red about your loss, David.
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David, my deepest sympathies. My thoughts and prayers are with you. Carly sounds absolutely amazing – thank you for sharing a little about her with us. Hugs!
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I am so sorry to hear of your loss. You are in my thoughts.
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What a beautiful testimony to your love. I have been a widow now for almost four years, I miss him everyday, but I wouldn’t trade the time we had together for anything, even knowing what was to come. I am so very sorry for your loss.
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I’m so sorry for your loss. That was a moving tribute to your true love.
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@Nate, @Glinda, @Anne, @Katharine, @David and everyone else: Thanks for your sympathy. My sister and I plan to scatter Carly’s ashes off Ocean City, Maryland, in the next week or so. David
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That was a great tribute. I’m sorry for your loss.
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My appreciation, Greg. Sadly, I’d just bought Carly an iPad for ereading and other purposes, but she was too sick to use it
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I’m so sorry for your loss. May her memory be for a blessing.
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Thanks, Katherine.
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As a ‘word person’ I always find it frustrating how useless words seem for offering someone else comfort at a time of such profound loss. But from your side you made the words do good work, David – sharing Carly with us & giving us a window to know & appreciate her & celebrate her life & her place in yours. Thank you.
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@Michael: What an eloquent tribute to my tribute. Thank you. Carly’s family is sharing my recollections with relative. So happy to see so many accesses from North Carolina.
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Thank you for sharing a beautiful eulogy for your loving wife.
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That was so lovely a tribute, David. I am so very sorry for your loss.
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I’m saddened by your loss, David…
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@Rochelle, @Garson and @Gerry: Thanks so much. My tribute to Carly was both painful and easy to write. So many good things to say about her!
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@David, we spoke briefly of your wife by phone and email–thank you for letting readers like me get to know her just a little bit through this tribute. I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m also heartened by your long years of love for one another. May my wife and I strive for the same level of care and understanding!
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Thanks, Trey. May Carly be an inspiration for others! She knew everything about what marriage should be like.
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My condolences – hopefully with time the happy memories will crowd out the heartbreak.
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@Alain: Thanks. Yes, as you can see from the tribute, the happy memories do abound. For nearly all people, pancreatic cancer is a death sentence. So I began the mourning process very early.
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David, I am heartbroken for you. Meeting Carly at work 20+ years ago and I liked her instantly and I always admired her work ethic and her love of dogs – for me boxers, for her the goldies…. She was so knowledgeable in so very much, I simply held her in awe. Many years ago, she gave me a notepad with golden retrievers, I still have it and think of her everytime I look at it. I’m wishing her godspeed to her next adventure and wish you peace. KayLani
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@KayLani: So true. Carly knew everything in her area, and as I noted, she was so so good at mastering new software (in fact, at absorbing information in general). Not only that, she loved to share what she knew. Thank you for your kind and accurate comments. Needless to say, Carly would have gotten a kick out of your Goldie reference. David
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I am so sorry that you lost your dear wife Carly this weekend. She was a wonderful partner and inspiration for you. That was a lovely tribute to her.
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Thanks so much, Judy. Yes, an inspiration—not just a partner.
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David, this is such a moving tribute. Thank you for sharing these insights into the immutable bond of your marriage and the essence of Carly as you knew her. She was so lucky to have you as her devoted husband, just as you were blessed by her true love for you. My deepest condolences on the loss of this special and inspiring person.
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@Emily: My thanks for your sympathy. Yes, I was lucky to have her.
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From Karen J. Steirer, one of Carly’s former colleagues:
My words cannot fully express the sorrow I feel about learning about the death of your beloved Carly. Her death has left a deep vaccum in our lives and I mourn her passing with you.
I always looked forward to spending time with her getting caught up in her positive outlook and vast knowledge of ASCD resources as a her pod mate and friend.
Though we haven’t gotten to spend time together in many years as much as I would have liked, I considered her among my dearest and treasured friends.
She was a wise, kind woman that will be greatly missed by all that knew her.
May God’s blessings be with you and take care
Karen
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Hi David,
I am so sorry to hear about Carly, and in awe of your ability to honor her legacy with such tenderness and thought. Spreading her ashes sounds very healing and I hope it brings you a sense of peace.
Lisa
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Thank you so much, Lisa. Right it’s looking as if Tuesday or Wednesday will be the day we scatter the ashes. Big unknown is the weather. From where she is, maybe Carly is in a position to pull strings 😉 David
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What a beautiful tribute, David. I’m so very sorry for your loss.
Kind regards,
Eric Meyer
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Thanks very much, Eric.
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David, I’m so very sorry about Carly’s death. She sounds truly wonderful, lively, warm, lovely. Such a loss. You wrote a wonderful tribute. I can’t ‘like’ it because it’s just so sad, but know that many out here are thinking about you, even though we’ve never met. Huge hugs to you and your family and friends.
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@Dawnkinster: Thanks. I’ll be moving on with my life, but the memories will forever remain. Yesterday, I watched a video from our wedding. Carly on the whole was an introvert in person, but not among her close friends, and the tape reminded me of how vibrant and caring she could be in the presence of those dear to her.
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David, I often tell my family u believe heaven to be the greatest library ever. I hope Carly finds the ebooks there are, of course, unlimited. I am so very sorry for your great loss.
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@Candy: What beautiful sentiments. Thanks.
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What a lovely piece you’ve written – you make me wish I knew her! I’m so sorry she had to leave you – and all her family – so soon.
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@MikiS: Lots of people feel that way. Thank you very much.
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Heartfelt condolences, David, on the loss of your precious inamorata. At the same time, I celebrate your fearless love and friendship. You and Carly were wonderfully blessed to share 26 years years of discovery, passion and mutual support. That kind of love never dies.
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Thank you, Marsha, for your eloquent comments. Along the way, may I point people to your tribute to your loving and brilliant husband? Excerpt:
“Richard was a fact based scientist, who marvelled in the unexplained mysteries of nature. He never attended church, but could not resist visiting churches, churchyards and cathedrals, everywhere we travelled. He was a hymn-singing-atheist. He was a Socialist with a weakness for luxury. He was a dreamer and a realist. He was worldly and innocent. He was optimistic and pragmatic. He was open and cautious. He was an introvert who loved entertaining. He was elegant and down-to-earth. He was sensitive and selfish. He was content and restless. He was handsome and self-conscious. He was affectionate and remote. He was a brave man. The bravest man I have known.”
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Very kind, David.
Thank You.
As the loss of our best beloveds illustrates, cancer not only steals lives, it also break hearts in a million pieces.
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