We met when Alli was in first grade and became friends with Carolyn’s identical twin daughters. They were just like their mom–blonde and beautiful, with hearts of gold.
Carolyn was one of those gorgeous women who didn’t seem aware of how beautiful she was. She was going through a tough time–divorced, raising three children alone, under the constant stress of being a working mother. Yet she never lost her cool—even the day she was distracted on the carpool line, and accidentally ran her car right into the wall of the school. Carolyn took that in stride, like she took everything else, juggling her responsibilities yet still able to laugh about it.
Her top priority and passion was always her kids—but there was pride in her work, too. I remember once visiting her office, when she excitedly pulled me into an editing room to watch the video she was producing for Van Halen. Called “Right Now”, it knocked my socks off, and later won the MTV award as Video of the Year.
In some ways Carolyn was a role model, since I found myself a few years later in the same situation as hers–going through a divorce, trying to manage working while being the kind of mom who always puts your children first. Then Carolyn fell in love, got remarried, and settled into a calmer, happier life. And soon the same thing happened to me—only my remarriage came with a move out of Los Angeles. Once we left, I saw Carolyn only on rare occasions when I came to LA and brought Alli to see the twins. But the girls remained in touch over the years, and the twins were Alli’s last connection to the life left behind in Los Angeles.
Just before her senior year of high school, Alli was visiting her dad in LA, and spent the night at the twins’. Carolyn, warm and fun as ever, reminisced with her daughters and mine, about their shared childhoods, just days before the twins would be leaving for college.
A few days later, Carolyn and her mother flew east to enroll both girls at Rhode Island School of Design. Carolyn was so close to her daughters that she planned to rent an apartment nearby so she could visit as often as she could. Once the girls were settled, Carolyn and her mom headed home on an early morning flight out of Boston—- the plane that hit the north tower of the World Trade Center.
I found out about Carolyn on September 12. Distraught, I tried to imagine what I would say to Alli when she came home from school. I remembered other times I’d been forced to deliver bad news to her: Mommy and Daddy are getting divorced; Mommy is getting remarried and we are moving away from your school and home and all your friends–and your Dad; Mommy has breast cancer. How could I possibly tell her Carolyn was dead?
With the resilience of youth, Alli took the news better than I did, and seemed to recover faster. I had not been close to Carolyn for years; but having faced death myself, her death tormented me. I replayed in my head the horror she might have seen or felt in her last few moments, scenes I could not get out of my mind. It didn’t seem possible that Carolyn, so alive and vibrant, could disappear, just like that.
It took a long time for me to absorb and comprehend. What was shocking was not just the horrific nature and suddenness of September 11, but this example of the irony and capriciousness of life. I had desperately envied normal mothers like Carolyn-–healthy, happy, unscarred, doing the simple things like taking children to college. Meanwhile I was living in fear that I would die, and not experience those simple things; that my children would be left motherless. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye and a cruel twist of fate, it was Carolyn’s children who were motherless; and Carolyn who was gone, not me.
Soon after 9/11 I heard about a planned memorial at Ground Zero that would be made of a wall of tiles honoring the victims. I painted a tile for Carolyn, mostly yellow because to me, she represented everything sunny and light. The project never got off the ground, but I took the tile home and kept it. Just to have something that represented Carolyn. Not that I could ever forget her.
Originally posted September 11, 2008
Iris Charney Sullivan says
Thank you, Darryle.
Once again you have touched my heart with your honesty.
Kelly Shoemaker says
Darryle, I’ve been watching documentaries of 9/11 on the History channel these last few nights. Upsetting stuff (not smart before-bed material), but especially disturbing are all the conspiracy stories. I had forgotten you knew someone in the very midst, rather, at the front, of that horrific event. Your story of Carolyn brought tears to my eyes, and then the tile…I remember you painting that tile. Sending you a big hug. Kelly
Deborah R. says
With your usual eloquence and eye for human detail, you have brought home the tragedy that befell our nation on 9/11.
Ila Fox Manner says
Ahhhh Darryle, Thank you for your words. I knew someone too, and it is just so impossible to think the whole thing through. I think of these families, the ripple effect this has had on the world, and pray for peace. Keep writing-you are a great teacher!
Ila
Melissa says
Carolyn sounds like a wonderful person, someone I would have loved to have known.
Through this beautiful tribute, I feel like I did know her.
My deepest condolences to you on your loss.
Darryle Pollack says
And once again you’ve touched me with your comment.
Darryle Pollack says
Thank you; I still remember painting it too, hard to believe it’s already been 9 years since 9/11.
Darryle Pollack says
Carolyn brought home the tragedy for me. Her spirit and personality were so positive, so ALIVE—it’s hard to think she will forever be connected with something so tragic.
Darryle Pollack says
Thanks so much Ila. I feel just the way you do–it’s still impossible to grasp knowing someone at the center of this tragedy that has had such an enormous effect. Not that anything would have balanced out the horrific losses— but it’s sad to me that the world and the country didn’t manage to come together over this as it seemed possible at the beginning. 9 years later we’re more divided than ever.
Darryle Pollack says
Thank you Melissa, for such thoughtful and sweet words. I’m so glad you feel something of Carolyn came through in this and that she’s not forgotten.
m.e. loree says
That was so beautiful. Thank you.xoxo
Darryle Pollack says
She was so beautiful. Still hard to believe. Thank u.
Jenni Chiu says
A powerful post… and such a tragic twist in the road of this families’ life. Again, my words feel small… but thank you for sharing yours.
Angelia Sims says
Thank-you for sharing such a beautiful person. I can’t imagine the heartbreak and sorrow during such a difficult time in your life. I know she would be proud of this tribute and the wonderful bright tile you made.
Darryle Pollack says
My words feel small too when I think of Carolyn’s loved ones, and the randomness that tears apart so many lives. Thank you Jenny, for commenting and for caring.
Darryle Pollack says
Thank you Angela, for commenting. I hope Carolyn would appreciate anything I felt about her, though it’s a small gesture—and my losses are small in the face of how she was ripped from her life and family. I’m pretty burned out on 9/11 coverage today on the 10th anniversary, still I think it’s important to keep alive memories of people who are gone, for any reason.