Vaya con Dios, Tia Caroline

Caroline Hendrickson in 2008; Oakland, Calif.

I’ve been ruminating today over the life and times of my aunt Caroline Hendrickson, who died over the weekend. She was 90, and lived alone in Gettysburg, Pa., where both she and her husband, the late Tom Hendrickson, had taught at, and retired from, Gettysburg College.

I wrote recently about grief and photojournalism; it seems that ever since life has been presenting me with ironic rejoinders to same – bombings in Boston, the deaths of two former colleagues, and the passing of familiar “old friends,” but nothing puts an exclamation point on these things like a death in the family.

There will be no obituary for her in The New York Times, or the Washington Post, or even El Pais, the papers she read daily, but Caroline was a fiercely independent woman who struck out on her own in an era when women were expected to be docile domestics. She married a man of whom her mother clearly did not approve. She attained the highest levels of professional standing in a field that was dominated by men and hostile to women.

She traveled to at least five of the seven continents, spoke at least three languages fluently, lived in pre-World War II Germany and post-WWII Europe and championed civil rights long before it was fashionable in this country.

Likewise, she believed in being physically fit – until problems with her neck got the better of her, her daily routine included a bicycle ride around the nearby Gettysburg National Military Park. She loved tennis: playing and, later, watching.

She taught me, probably more than anyone else in my family, about the importance of tolerance and acceptance of those who are different from us; she would not be cowed by the (often strident) opinions of her family and friends. My own admittedly liberal viewpoints have been greatly shaped by her world outlook.

She (and Tom) were generous to a fault – it’s fair to say that, without her support, I would not have my home here in one of the most expensive real estate markets in the country.

Unfortunately, living 2,900 miles away made our visits together infrequent – I last saw her in the summer of 2011. Technology was not her forte: she did not friend me on Facebook, nor did she check her e-mail daily, much to my chagrin. Anyone in my family will tell you I’m an underachiever in the correspondence department – even more so where the U.S. Postal Service is involved. I hope she knew when she left us how much I cared for her, the dearth of letters and phone calls notwithstanding.

Caroline was not a religious woman, so I doubt she gave a lot of thought to the afterlife; I was surprised when we actually had a church funeral service for Tom. But wherever she has gone, I pray that she will meet up again with her husband, and that they will share a toast with a glass of good tequila and some Mexican dishes with lots of garlic.

Rest in Peace, Caroline.