Just after my birthday this year, after all the various members of my family were sick, and my wife had, a few days earlier, taken a tumble in the bathtub, appeared an obituary in the local newspaper for someone named Carol A. Green, which is my wife’s name. This woman was 48, a couple years older than my wife, had four brothers (Carol had three). There were other facts that suggested that it wasn’t my Carol (the deceased Carol’s parents were deceased, she had had a lengthy illness, she lived in East Greenbush – across the river, and she was apparently Roman Catholic.)
That’s not as bizarre, though, as something that happened four and a half years ago. I was away at a conference when Carol, pregnant with Lydia, got two sympathy cards regarding the passing of her husband Roger. Since she was reasonably assured that I was not deceased at the time, she was as confused as she was startled. Turns out that a Roger Greene (with the e at the end) had died in this area and that he had a wife named Carol. The folks sending the cards got our address from the phone book. So we just sent the cards back to the senders with an explanation.
In any case, condolences to the family of Carol A. Green, to whom I am not related.
