Carrie And Me: A Mother-Daughter Love Story Part 20

Laugh, laugh for me

Wherever you are

Sing, sing out loud

Like angels do

Remember me

The way I'll remember you

Love, love for me

With all your soul

Cry, cry for me

As I grow old

See, see me from the edge of Heaven's eye

Feel for me 'cause feelings never die

I'll remember you

My very special friend

Until we meet again

"Mama ... forgive me?"

"For what, sweetheart?"

"Smoking."

I hugged her very hard.

"Mama ... maybe you could finish "Sunrise in Memphis" for me?"

"Oh, honey, I'm not sure I could write what you were aiming for."

"It's okay. Mama?"

"Yes, baby?"

"Am I headed for Graceland?"

Carrie died the morning of January 20, 2002. Jody and Erin were with her. Brian and I drove to the hospital immediately. Toward the end she had suffered and endured so much. I remember holding her several times after she had been through a seizure. She'd look at me and cry, "Mama, this is just not acceptable!"

At the time, I was torn between wanting her to let go, yet wanting her to hang on... . (Was this a selfish wish on my part?)

Looking at her now, I saw peace on her beautiful face. She looked serene. I was relieved for my baby. She wasn't going to ever suffer again. Still, I couldn't stop thinking, "It's not supposed to happen this way. I'm the one who should go first."

Diary entry:

Jan. 20, 2002

She's gone. Is there a worse pain? I don't think so.

I didn't want to get out of bed. The covers provided me with a kind of safety net. I would doze off and then wake up to the startling ugly truth of it all.

It was Hollywood Arms that saved my sanity. My husband, Brian, helped me enormously by pulling down the bedcovers and encouraging me to finish the play that Carrie and I had started. "You owe it to her." I knew he was right. I owed it to Carrie, and I owed it to Hal Prince. We were scheduled to premiere the play at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago in April 2002. I had to finish it all by myself, but I also had to believe that somehow Carrie would be there beside me.

Brian flew to Chicago with me to help me settle in, and set up my computer and printer in the hotel room. On the plane, I said a prayer to Carrie: "Baby, please be with me, I need you. Give me a sign." When we arrived, waiting for me in the suite was a beautiful array of flowers-birds-of-paradise! The card read, "Welcome to Chicago! See you tomorrow for our first rehearsal. Love, Hal." I called his room immediately.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi, Hal. We're here. Thank you so much for the flowers. How did you know they were Carrie's favorite?"

"I didn't. I just asked the florist to send over something exotic."

Carrie, Carrie, Carrie ... are you really here?

The next night, after our first rehearsal, Brian, Hal, and I went out to dinner. The maitre d' brought over a complimentary bottle of champagne. He showed us the label. The name on it was LOUISE, Carrie's middle name, and my mother's first name. These two moments were enough to bolster my confidence. I honestly believe that they were the signs I had prayed for on the plane. I was able to write the new scenes that were required during this tryout period in Chicago. Hal was my support and Carrie was my inspiration. To top it off, it rained on opening night. Rain. Carrie's favorite weather and mine, too. Brian collected it in an empty water bottle and later transferred it to a sealed perfume bottle.

We were set to open on Broadway in the fall.

We buried Carrie's ashes in three places. A small cemetery in Los Angeles was the first, with only the family and a few close friends present. We placed a bird-of-paradise on the gravesite. A hummingbird with a pink head hovered above.

Carrie had told me about a special mountain she would often climb in Gunnison, where she would sit under her favorite tree and read. We flew to Colorado. Her neighbor told us where the mountain and tree were located, and the word got out that we would have a ceremony at two p.m. Practically the whole population of tiny Gunnison showed up.

We all arrived at the spot at the foot of the mountain at the same time and began the short climb to Carrie's spot. The whole group of us was about halfway there when suddenly it got dark and the heavens opened up. Everybody scurried back down the mountain and into their cars to wait for the storm to pa.s.s.

At the first sign of rain, my daughter Jody cried out, "Carrie's here!" I was elated. Carrie and I had always talked about how much we loved rain and here it was, for the first time in three months, in Gunnison, pelting down with a vengeance.

It began to clear up and once again we all climbed back up the mountain. There it was: Carrie's tree. A hole had been dug next to it for her ashes. Her beloved Great Dane, Pee Wee, had died and was cremated a few weeks before, so we had his ashes in a container that we would place next to Carrie's. We all stood in a circle. I pa.s.sed the urn with her ashes around, and several people in the circle placed their hands on it as they spoke about the love they had for her and how she had "livened up things" in town on many occasions.

Vera and Ted were Carrie's neighbors. Vera spoke of their fond memories of Carrie:

She was loved by everyone she touched around here. Ted and I first met her when she and her husband were remodeling her cabin here at Sapinero. They had literally removed the roof when the rains came. They were going around the neighborhood asking for tarps. We became instant friends and Ted did a lot of work on the cabin.

At the time, Carol, we didn't know you were her mother. To us, she was just Carrie, a wonderful friend. She was like a daughter to us. Months later, we found out who she was, and asked her about it. She nodded, laughed, and hugged us.