Carol Jean Davis

Carol Jean Davis, mother, grandmother, daughter, sister, aunt, cousin, neighbor, and best friend died peacefully on Friday, August 20, 2021. Two weeks before her death from COVID-19, Carol learned she had beaten Stage 4 lung cancer with the help of MD Anderson’s compassionate doctors, nurses, and staff, Carol’s grit, and the unbelievably steadfast support from her family and friends. But how it ended is only a tiny part of Carol’s very full life.

Carol was born in Ypsilanti, Michigan on October 14, 1941, raised in Pine Bluff, Arkansas (with her 3 brothers and 1 sister: Ben, Bob, John, and Libby), attended college in Warren, Arkansas (where she was crowned Miss Boll Weevil and Miss Arkansas A&M), and graduated from Texas A&M, Corpus Christi in 1988. During those 47 years, an accomplished twirler, Carol worked full-time as a legal secretary, raised two decent kids (Layne and Laura), put her husband through law school (Baylor), made dinner every night, and developed friendships she nurtured her entire life.

One of those friendships began in 1974. Sandie’s and Carol’s husbands were best friends at Baylor. Sandie recalls:

I met Carol in her trailer home in Temple, Texas. I insulted her cooking, she laughed. I knew we’d get along right then and there. We were kindred spirits, inseparable co-pilots with a penchant for adventure. She chased a rocking chair thief through the streets of San José, Costa Rica. She forgot me in the taxicab. At the Texas State Capitol, I watched her put her feet up on the lieutenant governor’s ancient desk and watch the ball fall in Times Square.

In 1989, Carol moved to Houston to live with and care for Layne when he was diagnosed with HIV. She was his champion, enlisting the support of a wide network of friends, family, and caregivers at a time when people with HIV were stigmatized. When he died, Carol struggled with grief. Then her first grandchild was born.

With Jack’s birth, Carol became a friend of Bill’s, moved to the Houston Heights, and threw herself into being a grandmom and her new hobby: writing. When her granddaughter, Aransas, was born, Carol took care of her all day, every day while Laura finished her last semester of law school and studied for the bar exam.

Carol was a constant, generous, quirky participant in so many lives, especially her grandkids’. She did all the typical grandmom things: she was the first one to arrive at their birthday parties, loved when they could spend the night, attended innumerable after-school sports events, and endless awards ceremonies. Jack and Aransas knew she would be there for every one, and be there for regular every days, and holidays, and all the days in between. There were also less typical grandmom activities, like inventing “walnut baseball” (which is exactly what it sounds like), painting her fence with Aransas, or enlisting Jack to give Easter candy away. To Carol, it made perfect sense: Everybody likes candy. Who wouldn’t want candy from a nine-year-old? Jack recalls:

My grandmother parked on the side of Allen Parkway and made me get out of the car to give an expired, melted, white chocolate Easter bunny to a woman at a bus stop. She didn’t speak English. I’m sure expired Easter candy charity did nothing to assuage this woman’s suspicions of being poisoned by a kid and his grandmother.”

Although the candy give-away might have been a bust, annual blueberry-picking with Aransas was always a success!

During those years, Carol wrote prolifically, attended seminars and classes on writing, formed writing groups and hosted their dinners at her Heights home and weekend excursions to Libby’s ranch. In the process, she found a whole new group of friends. One of her closest was Jenny, who remembers:

I wrote with Carol. Through her prose, she expressed the sheer profundity of her sorrow, elation, wit, and her seemingly endless capacity for forgiveness and compassion. Self-deprecating and excruciatingly funny, Carol’s boundless energy was the cornerstone of her writing. She hated the idea of publishing her stories, even though everyone who read them said she should. Her writing didn’t stroke her ego, I don’t think she even knew the meaning of the word. She once told me, “I care nothing about being published, preening for agents, swallowing rejection from someone I never met. I write to remember; to see what got me here.”

Carol was one of those “hub” people: she connected the people she knew and loved, expanding her friend groups to include her neighbors, family, oldest friends, and her newest. The connections and devotion are deep. Judy, Raquel, Pat, Marcia, Pam, family and friends, Carol shared in their joys and sorrows, and they shared in hers. Her network of friends, family, and neighbors sustained her through her life and nourished her while she battled and recovered from cancer. One of Carol’s newest friends, Susan, said:

I cooked for Carol, introducing her to my gluten-free chicken tortilla soup, Shepherd’s Pie, Brazilian cheese bread, and sweet cream-topped chocolate cupcakes. She never stopped asking for new dishes – genuine in her appreciation of not only my skill in the kitchen, but in the joy that my time and attention brought her. She always wanted my recipes, sharing them with anyone with an e-mail address. Unconditionally passionate and perpetually fascinated by those she loved because those who loved her were her reason for living.

Carol was generous, without judgment. It permeated Laura, Layne, Jack and Aransas’s lives, fostering their compassion. She listened and gave great advice. She gave her time, attention, and many, perfect gifts to those she loved. TJ Maxx, Marshall’s, and Costco will miss her. She loved a lot of people, too many to name here, and they loved her right back.

Carol is survived by Laura, Sean, Jack, Aransas, John, Libby, and nieces, nephews, and cousins who were precious to her. She finally joins Layne, Donnie, Granddad, her mom and dad, Linda, her sweet friend Fred, and all the other people and pets she loved and/or ran over.