Charles Anthony Lasseter 1969-2007

I have been delaying writing anything about Chuck so far. This is four days and counting. I am quite impressed with my ability to not face or address the situation. I am sure that there is some claptrap about facing your own mortality or something that the more psychoanalytical among us would state at this point, and they’d be smoking a pipe while they said it. But that’s not the point.

I wrote once before, that before Chuck’s death I was disturbed by the sheer volumes of memories the things around me carry of him, how I sat with my brother in this room and could not look about without seeing something that had a story with Chuck attached. And how I feared how that would feel once he was gone. Well now I a addressing that, and despite what I had thought originally, those memories and ghosts are more comforting than I could have imagined.

I cried at my desk at home two days ago, just briefly, and turned so my daughter couldn’t see. Nothing triggered it, and nothing stopped it.

Last night, I assembled a few photographs of Chuck and placed those on the web. Today I sent them, one by one off to be placed on the memorial page while I was at work. Sitting at my desk at work, doing this, I began to cry again. I left a bit early in order to shop for some wine before picking up my daughter. This is not so much because I needed wine, but at that point I knew that doing that would help me to feel Chuck again. Chuck Was a great influence to me for food and wine. I remember a time that he came to one of our parties with one of the bottles that he had been saving for years, and shared it with the group. He referred to this as a "rent" wine, as the value of the bottle was greater than what he paid in a month for rent. I can’t remember anything about the wine, but I clearly remember the pleasure of sharing it with Chuck. With food chuck was a pleasure to cook with and learn cooking from. Many times he would be at our house and literally create some phantom meal out of random leftovers and spices.

I can spin in my chair and see the copy of "What Every Young Man Should Know" 1962 edition that Chuck gave me for my birthday. I had a copy of this book from my uncle when Chuck and I roomed together, We read it together several times, ad it had valuable advice such ad double-clutching a sports car, and several fine drink recipes guaranteed to knock a ladies knickers off (in 1962). That copy vanished years ago, and Chuck found another on ebay somehow. It sits with my most cherished books, and always will.

I look now at the things in my house and the ghosts of Chuck that they contain, and I am glad. I need not fear losing the memory of someone who touched my life so deeply, as he is woven throughout the fabric of my life and my family.

Chuck was my friend, Chuck was my Brother, and Chuck was my family. He was my wife’s friend, my mother’s son, and my daughter’s godfather. I miss him terribly and always will, but I don’t have to miss him too much, because he hasn’t gone that far.

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  1. For a while I figured my new plan was that Chuck wasn\’t dead, he\’d just moved to California. Yeah, sure I\’m a lousy friend for not calling him, but we\’re good enough friends that it doesn\’t matter.

    I don\’t think that\’s the healthiest coping strategy (denial), but hey, it seems to work for me.

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