Remembering Evelyn Carnahan: Everyone's Favorite Mom

On Feb. 26, family and friends gathered at Lynch & Sons Funeral Home in Clawson to say good-bye to Evelyn Carnahan.

Seated in the first two rows, closest to her casket, were her five children and their spouses, and all 10 of her beloved grandchildren. By the time the eulogy began, the room was filled to capacity with dozens of friends and relatives who’d come to celebrate the life of a woman who had welcomed them into her fold and redefined the meaning of family.    

My lifelong friendship with Ev began when I was befriended by her second daughter, Laurie, an eighth-grade classmate at Clawson Junior High (now Clawson Middle School). An only child, I was known as Cindy Gullion then – or "the new girl" who had moved to Clawson just a year earlier.

Laurie was one of the popular kids at school, so I was surprised when she handed me an invitation to a sleepover party at her home on Langley. Even though it was an all-girls event, I had to beg my overly protective parents for permission to attend. But once my mom and dad met Laurie’s folks – the legendary Bob and Ev – there was never any question that I’d be in good company. It was the first of many parties I would attend at the Carnahan household over the next 44 years. 

The Carnahans’ front door was never locked, literally or metaphorically. You could drop by their home any hour of the day or night, and Ev would insist that you sit down for a chat or stay for dinner – even if the Carnahan kid you’d come to visit wasn’t home at the time.

Heading the household, Bob was a gifted woodworker. One year, as a gift for Ev, he crafted a handsome pine dining table that would easily accommodate all seven members of the family as well as their guests. Pushed against a wall for parties, it also functioned as a buffet table for countless Christmas Eve open houses, bridal showers and engagement parties. Dining elbow-to-elbow with all five Carnahan kids and their parents, I grew to think of that table as another member of their family. 

My own mother worked at home and rarely entertained drop-in company. Watching the ease with which Ev welcomed all of her kids’ friends – and reveled in the chaos – I aspired to be more like her when I had a family of my own. More than anything, though, I marveled at how Ev made everyone feel like the most special person she’d ever met. She was everybody’s favorite mom in those days, which was quite an achievement, considering that kids of my generation never trusted anyone over 18 and rarely thought it was cool to hang out with parents.

There was an odd year or two when I lost touch with Laurie and her oldest sibling, Debbie, who’d also become a close friend. Regardless, Ev, who was widowed by then, never neglected to send me a Christmas card. She’d always sign it:  “Special love from Ev the Maid,” referring to an old family joke that’s too long and silly to repeat. Suffice to say those Christmas cards meant a lot to me.

When Ev turned 80 nearly two years ago, I was invited to her birthday lunch at ! in Royal Oak. All of the Carnahan sisters were in attendance – Debbie Atwood, Laurie Anderson and Julie Heiters – as well as Amy Gjonaj, one of Ev’s granddaughters. It was a sunny July afternoon, perfect for dining outdoors with a vibrant family of women. I recall looking around the table and feeling a delicious sense of belonging, even though I was the only person there who wasn’t related to Ev.

That day, I gave Ev an anthology of gardening essays that included a couple of my own pieces. The following week she sent one of the loveliest thank you notes I’ve ever received: “I’ve always been proud of you and your writing, just as if you were one of my own…. Thanks ever so much for joining ‘the girls’ and celebrating this old gal’s 80th. Hard to believe so many years have gone by. Love, Ev the Maid.”

Not long ago, Debbie, Laurie and I were discussing the fact that our busy lives tend to get in the way of our best intentions. All too often, we take our oldest friends for granted, or worse yet, neglect them. Debbie, who lives near me in Royal Oak, vowed to change that. The following weekend, she called with a plan.

“Come to my place for lunch on Monday,” she said. “Ev is looking forward to seeing you and I’ve invited all the Carnahan sibs.”

Of course, I said yes – and promised to bring dessert.

On the morning of Feb. 21, the day the luncheon was to be held, Debbie’s husband Mike phoned to inform me that Ev had died of aortic dissection in the early hours of the morning. Our next gathering around the Carnahans’ pine table would be Ev’s funeral luncheon.

As all good mothers do, Ev had left us with many invaluable lessons and instructions for a happy life. Here are just a few: Don’t wait too long to gather around a table with the people you love. Expand your definition of family to include your loyal friends. And always leave the door to your home wide open.

Cindy La Ferle's award-winning story collection, Writing Home, is available on Amazon.com. Proceeds are donated to the day shelter in Royal Oak. For more information, visit Cindy La Ferle's Home Office.