My surrogate healer

Carolyn Fugedy (1932-2021)

Carolyn’s husband worked with my dad, and like Mary Jo, she was my mom’s friend, not mine.  A tall, majestic looking woman with jet black hair and self-deprecating humor, Carolyn fussed over everything, especially the meals she prepared for us on the special occasions we’d celebrate together. Her kids attended Catholic school with my brother and me, and she was the kind of person who we knew we could count on if we ever needed something.

In my mom’s later years, Carolyn became a lifeline for her. When Mom gave up her apartment so that my Aunt Babe and Uncle Paul had a place to live when they moved to town, Carolyn invited her to live with her for as long as she wanted. Even after Mom moved into her own place again, they shared their lives as only best friends can. Mom babysat for Carolyn’s granddaughter after school, and Carolyn invited her over for family dinners and holidays. Carolyn looked up to Mom and relied on her to help her through difficult times in her own life.

Mom and Carolyn shared a lot of secrets, a lot of things they didn’t talk with anyone else about, but I never knew if Mom disclosed to Carolyn that her daughter was a lesbian. That’s why in 2010, I made the difficult decision not to invite Carolyn to my wedding. I struggled with the decision but knew I couldn’t face the possibility of her rejection during such a happy time. After the wedding, after the honeymoon, after life had settled back into a routine, I sent Carolyn an email with the news that I had married a woman.

It felt like I barely finished clicking send when Carolyn’s reply popped up in my inbox. She told me that she had known I was a lesbian from the time I was a teenager—long before I knew--and was so glad I was happy. Carolyn knew Mom struggled with it, but she never brought it up to her because she wanted Mom to believe her secrets were safe, even with someone who knew her so well. I don’t understand her logic, but I appreciate that Carolyn thought it was the best way to be loyal to Mom.

Carolyn and me at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in 2012

Carolyn’s warm and enthusiastic acceptance of my sexual orientation lifted much of the burden I had carried from my mother’s rejection of it. I felt exonerated and relieved by her unabashed approval. Still, I wish Carolyn had found a way to talk with Mom about it. Knowing Carolyn approved could have given Mom, who depended so much on the approval of others, the permission she needed to accept me too. Nevertheless, Carolyn’s love was a balm to the wounds left open between my mother and me. She died after I drafted this piece, and I feel the empty place created by her loss. She was the last living thread to my mom’s generation. I look to her spirit when I need to be reminded not to pre-judge what might be in a person’s heart.

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Expanding my definition of creativity