Andrew Cotto remembers the wife of an old friend.
Instead of delving into the details of a wet and uneventful February, I’m going to share a story from the past and a story from our Italian year that took place in June. The relevance to February will be clear by the end.
I had a friend growing up named Robert Ferrari. He was the son of a Roman charm machine and an Englishwoman of extraordinary elegance. From an early age, Robert had it going on. In high school, he loomed large, both literally and figuratively, whether he was on the soccer field or singing in a band or hosting parties at whosever house the party was taking place. We knew he desired a beautiful girl named Karen Coote. Everyone loved Karen. She sparkled. And smiled. And painted. She was an artist, and she was art. She was also older and seemingly out of reach. But Robert persisted, and Robert prevailed. All of us who were there that night remember it as a seminal event. Robert and Karen, we said their names together. Robert and Karen.
Robert and Karen dated through high school, and college, and after college they got married. They had a son named Michael. Then they had a son named Justin. Everything seemed perfect. But there was something about Karen that I’ve yet to mention. Before the two children and before Robert Ferrari, Karen Coote had been sick. She had a tumor when she was younger. A tumor on her brain. People knew it, but people forgot (though I’m sure Karen and her family and close friends never forgot). Tumors certainly never forget, especially those on the brain. Karen’s illness returned in a flash one day when the boys were little and Robert was at work. She managed to secure the children and call for help before collapsing on the floor. An act of heroism I’m not able to describe but capable of Karen.
There was surgery, and there was recovery. And then there were endless consultations and appointments and the dogged pursuit of a remedy to avoid the next episode. Karen returned to her life as a mother and a wife and the beloved to so many. In June of 2004, Robert and Karen and their two boys came to Italy. They had a suite in a back alley off of the Piazza San Marco in the amazing city of Venice. We drove up from Florence to spend a few days.
In our Italian year, these days were among the most magical. Venice is surreal in its floating illogic and stunning beauty. It’s a sinking city of shadows and bridges and walls. The light plays tricks and I’ve never been somewhere easier to get lost. In my previous trips to Venice, amidst the undeniable splendor, I’d always, more than anything else, felt displaced. Robert and Karen changed that. I imagine that there was nowhere that they didn’t feel welcome. It was like being in the company of royalty as we strolled the narrow streets and sampled the Venetian pleasures. The boys each held one of Sophia’s little hands. We were never lost. Robert commandeered a gondola and gave the gondolier special commands (and a fistful of Euros). We avoided the Grand Canal and slipped through watery alleys, ducking under clotheslines, peering into homes. The children were mesmerized. We were all mesmerized. I remember Karen smiling and reclined in the front of the gondola, her legs crossed and her serenity projecting grace over the inky water and the pastel walls and the slivers of pale blue sky overhead. Her serenity surrounded us all.
Venice is not known for its food, but Robert, of course, found a perfect ristorante. In the late afternoon, we were seated upstairs in a private room with an open window that looked over a quiet alley. Seemingly, the entire staff tended to our needs and filled ice buckets with the bottles of wine as Robert ordered nearly everything on the menu. The kids sipped colorful drinks through long straws. The meal was exquisite, of risottos and seafood and vegetables. It seemed to go on for hours. After dinner, in the twinkling Venice twilight, we went to the Piazza San Marco. The children chased the legions of pigeons and giggled as darkness sifted down. Robert, with a childlike grin, layered his upper body in birdseed and allowed the pigeons to flock. He’d never seemed as large to me as he did in that moment, covered in birds, his arms outstretched and his head towards the sky. He looked like a movie star on vacation. A movie star with a wife who matched his magnificence. I wish I’d taken their picture.
The Ferrari’s returned to the United States. And shortly after, Karen’s illness returned, as well. Instead of pouncing this time, the disease returned like a vine, wending its way through Karen, depleting her of her essence on a steady basis. We watched. And we saw Karen wither like a rose, once full of vigor and vitality and of a beauty that few of us will ever know. But we knew her, and that was enough.
Karen passed on Valentine’s Day of last year. We all remember her in our own way. I remember her with a story of the time she came to Italy in June with her beautiful family and, for a few days, blessed our Italian year.
Thank you, Pat!
Andrew,
What lovely thoughts about a lovely couple. Everyone who knew them was touched by their story. How wonderful Karen was to inspire such devotion by so many. A lesson for us all. Valentine’s Day is such a fitting time to remember one so loved.
Pat
Well said, Lee. Thanks for sharing and for adding to the appreciation of Robert and Karen.
Best,
Andrew
Andrwew,
I was at their Wedding, that Day Robert out performed the Wedding Band (The Brothers 2+2) as he always does. We shared an office at the time when that call came in. My friend of 20 years Robert is a Hero of many sorts, Karen was an Angel and together they raised 2 amazing sons and created a Legacy that we should all be jealous of. I want to Wish my Brother in Arms this great memory on this day of Valentines 2012.
Thank you, Stephanie. I appreciate your thoughts and hope all is well with you and your family.
Best,
Andrew
Andrew, I just got off the phone with Robert and he told about how touched and truly numbed he was by your incredible words- he could not say enough. So I immediately opened up my computer and was so pleased to find Karen’s “Valentine”. You described Robert and Karen so perfectly and truly captured the unique love and zest for life they had together. Tears rolled down my face as I read your eloquent words. My head just kept nodding as you described Karen’s “grace”. She was the true meaning of grace. What a BEAUTIFUL tribute to Karen on the… Read more »
Great article, handsome. It was like I was there…
LOL!!!! Hi Pam!!!! You mean you were there too?
Beautiful article Andy! Now remember to get Pam something special for Valentines Day! ;o)
Love to you all!
Barbara
Thanks, Babe.
My pleasure, Trish. Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
Best,
Andrew
Beautiful!
Thank you Andrew, what a nice tribute to a special couple and to an angel up above. May their love story and Karen’s life be a reminder to live life to the fullest and not to sweat the small stuff.
Andrew,
As the first anniversary of Karen’s passing approaches, a flood of beautiful and tender memories fill my thoughts. Thank you for providing such a magnificant vehicle for reminiscing. Karen’s life was cut far too short but with Robert, together they lived life to the fullest.
Karen’s loving Aunt Peggy
Thank you, Peggy.
What lovely sentiments.
Best to you and your family,
Andrew
Thank you, Pam.
It really wasn’t hard to capture the beauty of Karen and her wonderful life. It’s a pleasure to still be part of her family. So nice to know of other members, Please feel free to pass this on to anyone who may enjoy the reflection.
Oh, and thanks for the comments on Italy. Glad we have Italy in common, too!
Best,
Andrew
Andrew,
Thank you for sharing this beautiful piece. You really captured the beauty of Karen, Robert and their life together. Such imagery. (Having spent 5 years of my childhood in Italy, I particularly loved the setting!) I’m Karen’s first cousin from Virginia. Her dad Dave and my mom are brother and sister. Thank you too for your friendship in their lives.
Best wishes,
Pam