PORTLAND – Carol Coolbrith, 84, died Saturday evening, Sept. 12, 2009, at Barron Center, Portland. Carol was born Jan. 16, 1925, on Peaks Island, to Mary Cassidy and Arthur Frothingham, then became the beloved adopted daughter of Dr. Richard and Mrs. Hulda Black of Peaks Island. Her happy memories of Peaks Island with the Blacks and with her lifelong friend, Susan Bragdon McCann, were always with her. Carol worked for more than 37 years at businesses in the Portland area, including Couri Motors, Community Oil Chevron and Northeast Petroleum. She spent some of her retirement years in Lynchburg, Va., where Susan McCann Lives. She loved recounting stories of their many adventures together. Carol volunteered at a local hospital while in Lynchburg, Va., and after returning to Maine she volunteered with Youth Alternative Foster Grandparents Program until health issues made it impossible to continue. Throughout her life, she was an avid reader. She enjoyed mysteries and biographies in particular. Her sense of caring, fairness and responsibility, in spite of human foibles, will be a legacy to those who knew her. Carol is survived by her sons, Barry Coolbrith and wife, Deborah, of North Yarmouth, Dean Ridlon and wife, Karen Belleau, of Bangor and Steve Ridlon and partner, Casey Scott, of Albuquerque, N.M.; granddaughter, Ryan Coolbrith of South Portland; and grandsons, Seth Coolbrith of Portland, Barry Coolbrith and Aaron Coolbrith of North Yarmouth. A family remembrance will be held at a later date. For those who wish to remember Carol with contributions, they may be made to The Adoptive and Foster Families of Maine, 294 Center St., Old Town, ME 04468 or at www.AFFM.net. Arrangements are under the guidance of Independent Death Care, 471 Deering Ave., Portland. To offer words of condolence to the family, share memories and sign a guest book, go to the obituary page at www.independentdeathcare.com. “If Once You Have Slept on an Island” by Rachel Field If once you have slept on an island, You’ll never be quite the same; You may look as you looked the day before, And go by the same old name. You may bustle about in street and shop; You may sit at home and sew; But you’ll see blue water and wheeling gulls, Wherever your feet may go. You may chat with the neighbors of this and that And close to the fire keep, But you’ll hear ship whistle and lighthouse bell, And tides beat through you sleep. Oh, you won’t know why, and you can’t say how, Such change upon you came, But – once you have slept on an island, You’ll never be quite the same.
CAROL COOLBRITH
