During the time that he was sick, I kept my phone near me all the time. I left it on in class (on vibrate) and would leave class to check any voicemails I had. Dreading the ringing of the phone. Dreading the messages I might get. On the morning of Friday, February 10th, 2006, I received THE message. My father had passed away at around 3 in the morning. No rush to get to the hospice – but the rest of the family would be there when I arrived. I took a shower, and cried out loud, letting the water fall over me and take the tears with it.
Once at the hospice, I was greeted by my grandfather, who directed me to the family lounge. Both my grandparents told me I was more than welcome to go in and sit with him. The hospice staff had left him in the room for us to pay respects. I could tell, even though she encouraged it, my grandmother didn’t want me to go in. She said he was no longer warm – that he was truly gone, and that it was simply an empty shell. I agreed. I preferred to remember him as he had been the last time I saw him.
Our pastor arrived shortly thereafter. He encouraged us to hold the funeral as soon as possible. Both Bonnie and I were adamant that it would be 8 days later – the following Saturday. He discouraged this, but we held our ground. She wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to prepare a speech. And partly, as I admitted later, I was afraid as soon as the funeral was over, people would forget. So I figured the longer we could delay that, the better.
I did speak at the funeral. I remember getting through it fairly well, as long as I didn’t look at my family. Two of my very dear friends attended. They had told me to look for them – that I could use them as my rocks while speaking. I wasn’t able to find them while at the podium. Just as well – they told me afterwards they bawled their eyes out as soon as the family started coming in.
While most of this posting is sad, I now think of this day as a day to celebrate. Whatever ones religious beliefs, today can always in someway be considered a rebirth. A time to be thankful for the years I did have with my father, what he taught me both in life and in death. The closeness I now share with my grandparents. The deep gratitude for the existence of my brother – him being the only other that lost a father when Doug Charman passed away.
When it comes to Dad, I always feel like I can never say enough. I want to fill these pages with stories and commemorations. I want to copy and paste my speech from the funeral. I want to copy and paste the lovely email I received from one of Dad’s high school friends this morning (showing that even now, 5 years AFTER the funeral, people still remember). But I know that his essence, his memory, cannot be captured in words. All I can really say is that his memory is alive in me, in my brother Adam, in my stepmother Bonnie, in my mother Deborah, in my grandparents Helen and Robert Charman, in my aunt and uncle Lori and Glenn Charman, my cousins, Jesse and Cody Briggs, and Carly and Troy Charman and all those spouses, extended family, friends, colleagues and everyone we touch as a result of us having our beings shaped by the man my father was.
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