Carol B. (Eiss) Weeks

On August 21, 2025, the world lost one of its best storytellers, and somewhere right now, someone is laughing because of a story she once told. Carol had the rare gift of making everyone she met feel like they were the only person in the world that mattered in the moment. Her gift was to make all she met feel heard, respected, loved, and understood. She captivated adults, children, strangers, family, or friends with her words, wit, and larger-than-life presence.

Born on August 27, 1948, in Watertown, NY to Carlton and Marie (Hebert) Eiss, Carol was the second of seven children and raised alongside many foster siblings. Her early years were spent with modest beginnings on the family dairy farm on Dry Hill Road, where hard work and simple living laid the foundation for her adventurous spirit. But that spirit quickly outgrew the barnyard. Drawn to the 60’s counterculture sweeping through California, she set out west, living life at full throttle as she often trekked between east and west coasts in her beloved Volkswagen. While living in the greater Berkeley area, she regularly served drinks and worked in the same house club as the rising star of the ’60s, Janis Joplin, fully immersed in the era’s music, freedom, and revolution of spirit. Inspired by those times, she later made the pilgrimage back east to attend Woodstock (yes, THAT Woodstock). She never missed a chance to remind people that she hadn’t just read about history—she lived it.

In her early years she made her way as a career waitress and bartender—always quick with a smile, a sharp wit, and a story worth hearing. Adventurous to her core, Carol even joined a skydiving team, completing more than 200 jumps. She always insisted she wasn’t fearless, just stubborn—and if you were privileged enough to know her, you know how true that is.

Life wasn’t always free of setbacks for Carol, but her grit never let that stop her. She was a voracious reader, a lover of music, and someone who found solace in the still of nature—or in the roar of a convertible on an open highway. She was equally at home in a quiet, sun-drenched field or quoting something profound in a way that made you laugh until you snorted. Her humor had an edge that might make you blush, but it always left you laughing.

Carol gave generously—usually without recognition—to those most in need. She believed in lifting people up, whether through philanthropy, a well-timed joke, or by just offering a listening ear.

With characteristic determination, she began her career with NYS Corrections at the age of 52, proving it’s never too late to take on a challenge that most wouldn’t dare to. She endured the corrections academy experience not once, but twice, and served as an officer with dignity and pride until her retirement in 2013. While her career spanned many years, her most rewarding chapter by far was spent at Otisville Correctional Facility in Orange County, NY, where she found deep meaning in her work and lasting connections with those around her. She was “Mama Weeks,” a nurturing force of justice to both her colleagues and the residents she worked with.

Carol’s greatest pride, however, has always been her children and grandchildren—the true legacy she leaves behind.

Carol is survived by her children and their spouses: Steve Eiss (Jessica Eiss), Stephanie Martin (Lynn Martin), Micah Northrop (Gina Northrop), Allana Jakubowski (Jeff Jakubowski), Sierra Weeks (Nicholas Wisner). She also leaves behind her 12 grandchildren and 7 great-grandchildren, her extended family, and friends from every walk of life whose lives she touched deeply.

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, Wow! What a ride!”

Carol was a diamond cut by life itself—brilliant, unbreakable, and one of a kind. Her life reminds us that joy can be found in a farm field, a book, a fast car, or a perfectly timed wisecrack. So if you want to honor her, crank up some music, take the back road, and laugh a little louder than usual. She would’ve liked that.

In her diary, Carol had carefully saved a passage that became her own definition of success:

To laugh often and much;To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;To appreciate beauty;To find the best in others;To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition;To know even one life has breathed easier because you lived—This is to have succeeded.

Well Mom, you nailed it.

In lieu of any stuffy “services” or pretentious “celebrations” of her life, Mom would just want you to genuinely look for the next opportunity to lift up someone less fortunate, then quietly do so as you think of her.