The service for Chuck today was perfect. I imagined him scoffing at all the sentimentality, and secretly loving every minute. I have always known my sense of humor, sarcasm and defiance came from him. And I thank him and love him for that.
Here is the speech I gave:
On Saturday the weather suddenly changed. It went from feeling like summer to being so cold I
needed my winter parka. That night, the wind was particularly loud.
I wouldn't call it eerie, but somehow appropriate. Something was
happening here and the universe was responding. Narrating.
Time was frozen. It was absolutely stopped. The night seemed endless as we sat by
Chucks bedside. Around 1 am I
decided it would be best to go home and sleep so I could come back rested in the morning for
another long day of this surreal waiting game.
Sunday morning, May 27 2012 things felt…different. We made it through the limbo of last
night. It was sunny. The
weather continued to narrate this story.
I felt a stronger sense of peace.
Something had transpired. And
time had started to speed up again.
I was out the door on my way to Farah’s house as fast as I could. In the few minutes it took me to get to
her house, Chuck made his exit from this life.
My dad waiting outside to tell me he was gone is something I’ll never
forget.
And this is the part of
the story where my world, and my families, cracks open and everyone is instantly
changed. It is exactly like they say it will be, and completely different
at the same time.
When I was inside, I
looked at him.
Wait. Wait a minute.
The spiritual scientist in
me had been as matter of fact as I could be up until this point. I was worried about one person losing a
father, another a brother, or a son, but wait. Wait a minute.
That's MY UNCLE. That's MY Uncle Chuck.
Every emotion that came
over me after that was not in any way, shape or form something that I expected
to feel. The scientific mind in me wants to protect me so hard that it
forgets to talk to my heart on the biggest matters sometimes. It’s my defense mechanism for when it’s
going to be more than I can bear.
I left last night. I left. I left. I left.
How would I ever forgive myself? And how could this happen in the minutes
it took me to drive over? There was my Chuck. My Chuck.
There, but no longer
there. That was so profound I don't know if I can put into words what
that experience was. All I wanted to do was for him to wake up for a
minute so that I could have a final conversation.
Wait. Wait a minute.
I didn't know last night was the last night of his life. I didn't
know the last time I saw him at his apartment would be the last time he'd be at
his apartment. Or at the hospital. Or the last time we were in a
car together on the way to a doctor appointment. On a particular day
where I didn't want to be there and wasn't even being pleasant. Let me
just have one more minute. To bring you another donut and chocolate milk.
To take my dog to visit you. To play a prank on you. To answer the phone when you call
instead of sending it to voicemail.
There is no such thing as
being prepared for a goodbye.
There is no such thing as being ready. It doesn’t matter if someone is sick and you know it’s
coming. There is no moment you’re
ready to walk out of the room, knowing it’s the last time you’re going to see
someone. That kind of closure,
that kind of readiness does not exist.
I wanted to crawl onto the
bed, where he looked so cozy and somehow at home and just snuggle
next to him.
What a day. What a day, seeing the reactions of my
family.
The word that had been
creeping up on me the last few nights and was now taking hold was
“unbearable”. Losing a loved on is
nothing short of unbearable. The
little circle of my family, the family I have been closest too and have grown
up with, at times more like siblings than aunts or unlces, was now broken. Forever changed.
Now the world would be
seen through a new filter.
I’ll never forget that
day. "The day of impossible
goodbyes". The day my families
collective heart was broken.
The van and men who picked
up our Chuck driving away. There
he went. They took our Chuck. Our Chuck. You want to run down the street screaming after them to
bring him back in hopes that it’s not real and he’ll wake up.
When the bed was empty, it
still was not real. He was at
home. He’ll call. We’ll see him at Christmas.
We talked about what a
presence he is. So funny. So sarcastic. So loud. So
big. Larger than life. One of a kind. That was Chuck.
As I looked at him that
Sunday, what I was seeing was no longer that. It was the carrier that had housed all of that for the last
60 years.
I was so profoundly
reminded that we are not our bodies at all. They are simply the vessel that takes our spirits, or essence,
through life. How strong AND weak
our physical bodies are at the same time.
Be good to them, for they
are perishable and are merely on loan while we’re here for a short visit on
earth.
There was his watch, his
glasses. This particularly struck
me. My brain had a hard time
processing that one minute you need those things, then next you don’t.
Now what do you do with
those things? What becomes of things?
I was struck with the
importance of detachment. Detach
from thinking you are only your physical self. Detach from things.
Things don’t matter.
Simplify.
I have always believed we
are here to be each others teachers.
That everything happens for a reason and that all is unfolding exactly
as it should…so what happens now.
What do we take from such pain?
Right now, I think it is
to remind ourselves to live the life we truly want. Not in an unrealistic way, but to be conscious that we are
where we want to be or striving toward it. To always follow your heart.
Since there is no way to
know when you’ll be faced with a goodbye.
That there is no such thing as being ready. But we can try to make our relationships meaningful for
when that time does come. Make
time for the people you love and who love you. Make sure you not only show them love, but tell them
also. Make sure you invest in what
matters to you.
Respond to every
call that excites your spirit.
And gently remind yourself of patience and
compassion for others. You never
know the impact you’re having or will have on someone else’s life and what you
are teaching them.
And we are forever changed
because we got to know Chuck.
Because he was in our lives.
And when it feels like
we’ll never go back to normal... it’s because we wont. And aren’t we lucky? Aren’t we lucky we
had the privilege of having that time with Chuck?
From "The Life of Pi" by Yann Martel
What a
terrible thing it is to botch a farewell. I am a person who believes in form,
in the harmony of order. Where we can, we must give things a meaningful shape
It's
important in life to conclude things properly. Only then can you let go.
Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did, and your
heart is heavy with remorse.
Dare I say I
miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares
mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human
heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously,
without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. The pain is like
an axe that chops my heart.
You are so loved, Uncle Chuck.
"Chuck"
Surrounded by loving family our most precious, handsome son, brother, father, uncle and friend Charles B. Bowden (Chuck) passed from this life into eternity May 27, 2012. He now resides in God's Heaven.
Surrounded by loving family our most precious, handsome son, brother, father, uncle and friend Charles B. Bowden (Chuck) passed from this life into eternity May 27, 2012. He now resides in God's Heaven.
Chuck was born in Murray, Utah on November 9, 1951 to Blaine and Angela Bowden. He was raised in Salt Lake City and graduated from Granite High School in 1970. He married Patti Anderson in September 1972 (later divorced). In junior high Chuck excelled in volleyball and basketball and was a record setting high jumper. While at Granite High he again excelled in football and baseball. Baseball was his first passion and remained that way. Chuck was a member of the Granite Legion and Baseball 1969 State Champion team. He was co-captain of the baseball team that won the State Baseball Championship in 1970. He was selected American Legion All State Centerfield in 1970. Chuck loved hunting and fishing, the Quaky Aspen trees and the mountains. He also loved old western and war movies. Chuck's daughter Lacey (Pumpkin Pie) was his pride and joy. He loved her with all his heart.
Chuck leaves behind his parents, daughter Lacey, brother Larry (Margo), sister Lauren (Claude), sister Farah (Bryon), sister Dyana (Jay), nieces Deena (Dave), Shannon, Lili and Ondrea. Nephews Griffin and Jude, special friend Anna Weidauer. We want to thank the Shock/Trauma Unit at IMC Hospital and the Intermountain Homecare Hospice staff who took such wonderful care of our Chuck. And a special thank you to Pastor Ken Hornok and his wife Marcia for their loyalty, love and prayers through this difficult time. Funeral services to be held Thursday, May 31st at Jenkins-Soffe Mortuary, 1007 West South Jordan Parkway, South Jordan, Utah at 12:00 pm.
Okay Chuck, now that you're an "Angel in the Outfield" PLAY BALL!!
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