Carol Burmood strides across...
…the room, blonde hair falling in waves along her shoulders, arms outstretched, and a wide smile that floods the space like golden-hour sunshine. Never mind that it’s the first time we’ve met in person, she’s wrapping me in a hug like we’re long-lost sisters.
She pulls back, looks me square in the eyes, and says, “You’re going to get through this. I promise. And we’re going to do it together.” And that we did.
For five years, Carol was my rock, the voice of reason I clung to when I felt like I was drowning, the courage I leaned on when my own was in short supply. Always there, a tireless cheerleader, ready to lift me up, whether I was falling apart or finding my footing.
Carol had this uncanny ability to see you—the real you—and then wrap you up in a love so pure, it made you believe you were good, worthy, and whole. She was the kind of friend you don’t come across often—a compassionate soul with an infectious warmth and a saucy sense of humor that could make even the heaviest days feel lighter. She was grace under pressure, love in action, and extraordinary in every way.
Last month, after a fast and furious 7-week battle with Stage 4 brain cancer, Carol took her last breath. And for a moment, it felt like mine went with her.
And yet… some people bring such a great light to the world that even after they’re gone, their light continues to shine.
Carol’s death has stirred a new desire in my heart—a desire for service, much like hers. I don’t have the full picture yet, but I know words will be part of it because that’s where I find meaning. Her passing has made me realize that I want to be a light to others. To offer shelter in kindness and love when your knees buckle and the floor drops beneath you. When you’re teetering at the edge of what your heart can bear. When the road ahead is a blur, and the hurt feels like it might never heal. Carol showed me that even in the darkest times, there’s space for light to shine. And that’s what I want my legacy to be…carving hope into the darkness.
It’s so very Carol to keep breathing life into new dreams, even from the other side of the grave.
That’s what extraordinary does. Extraordinary love. Extraordinary grief. Extraordinary courage. Extraordinary dreams. They change your life in unfathomable ways.
Heather Anne Lee
Editor
