04/09/57 – 09/04/09
Back in late ’07, Chuck went in to have a surgery to correct a hernia. Well, they took x-rays and did some other tests and it turned out that he had colon cancer. In February of ’08 he had the cancer removed and began a chemo regimen shortly thereafter. He recovered quickly from the surgery, and he didn’t seem to suffer too much from the chemo. That shit’s nasty (not that I know first-hand). He seemed to be doing well: His tests were coming back negative, he was walking everywhere, miles a day, and he seemed in good spirits. Those are the good parts. The bad parts are that he ate like shit, he still drank like a fish, and continued to smoke (although he ‘cut down’ to four or five a day, unless he was drinking, then it was a whole pack.). So he began to lose weight, just wasting away. Then, just recently, he began to have problems catching his breath. He made an appointment to see the doctor on the 24th of August, but it had gotten worse and my mom drove him to the hospital Saturday afternoon. There he was diagnosed with pneumonia, and during his exam, x-rays showed his lungs as just a gray mass. They admitted him, put him on antibiotics and oxygen. They sent him home the following Saturday, the 29th, where he could continue his recuperation. Basically his condition never improved.
On September 4th, at 2:21 AM, Chuck lost his battle with cancer. It was a rather quiet and mostly peaceful passing. He had hospice care, and his nurse was extremely well-qualified at her job. She helped Chuck make the transition as painless as possible, and for that we’re extremely grateful. She left around 11:00 PM, giving us a schedule of meds to give him as the night progressed. My mom had gone to bed because she’d been dealing with all of this for the past two weeks and she was whooped. So for the rest of the night, and for the last few hours and moments of his life, it was just me and him. And as he rattled his last breath I whispered in his ear “I’ll see you, brother,” and that was pretty much it. Except for one last gasp, so I told him, “It’s okay; you can go now,” and that was it. About an hour after his passing, I heard my mom stir upstairs. She had gotten up to take some aspirin for her back pain, and that’s when I had to tell her. She was rather sanguine about it, saying that “At least now maybe he can get a break from whatever demons were haunting him.” Amen to that.
We called the hospice nurse so she could return and do all the official stuff and make arrangements to deal with the rest of it. Chuck’s body was donated to science, and the organization has taken care of all the details. There was no ceremony, no viewing, no nothing.
So aside from family and a few friends, no one will know of Chuck’s passing. I suppose that’s some kind of statement, but I’m not sure what else I can say. For me, the Chuck I know will always be the Chuck I grew up with and knew up to about 12 years ago, before I moved away. I don’t think I’ll remember the image of his emaciated body lying in that bed, or his rattling final gasps. For me, he’ll always be that goof who bounced when he walked. People knew it was him from a mile off because of that walk. And his laugh. And the way he swept the hair off his forehead. That’s a different Chuck. That’s the Chuck I remember. I hope that’s the Chuck everyone else will remember as well.
Too bad things could not have turned out better for him, but, (not to sound too cold) that’s just life. It was his life, and no one could have lived it differently. Sometimes we can’t comprehend the reasons why, but we need to believe and understand that something better lies ahead, and to remind ourselves to make the time to enjoy ‘right now’. After all, ‘right now’ is all we got, and ‘right now’ is all that matters. The past is gone, and the future will never arrive (because it’s the future), so whatever moment we’re in right now, this is the moment we live our lives to the fullest.
I’ll see you, brother.
All my love,
Phillip
now is the future of yesterday; true. I hope Chuck will be remembered how he wanted to be remembered too. x
Indeed.
Many thanks.
Hi Phil
You probably don't remember me but Chuck was a friend of mine in high school. I always wondered what became of you.
Ben
Hi Ben!
Wow, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of you since high school. We used to catch knives and laugh about "draw me!" And your fat friend Dinwiddy, or whatever his name was with the Coke bottle glasses, saying "Shot to hell!" Your sister Carri was hot. I took her to an Aerosmith concert and Chuck 'tagged along' and basically put a wedge between us. How's she doing anyway? Man, it's been a hundred years….