Eulogy for David Lane Charles

By his son, Aaron David Charles

I shared my Dad with the world. I mean that literally, as his accomplished career as an engineer took him around the globe. My Dad would scoff at me when I would tell him that he was one of the best engineers in the world. But his patents and the recognition of one of his projects by the CEO of Honeywell speak to the lofty company he kept in his professional circles. On one trip to Australia in the late 1990’s, he made sure to tell me that I could look up at the moon at night and see the same view he would even though he would be a world away from each other. That stuck with me, and it was an example of the gift my Dad had to be present with you when he was in your presence.

That was certainly true for my brother and me growing up. He would play in the yard with us. He gave me special attention by building model rockets together for the 4-H fair. The engineer in him came out by trying to convince me that he had better ways to build the rocket than the instructions did. I never got a blue ribbon, so take with that what you will. Thankfully, he was much better at building brake systems for airplanes. He would often joke that he liked to tell people he built brakes for airplanes after they landed successfully.

He was truly a master engineer, but I would venture a guess that his coworkers would talk much more about his people skills than his many gifts as an engineer. My Dad was unique in his ability to shepherd projects by getting people to work together better than they could in isolation.

His work on a project for the Paris Air Show kept him in France for most of a full year when I was in college. According to Aviation Week, “At the Paris Air Show in 2013, Honeywell and Safran demonstrated the jointly developed Electric Green Taxiing System (EGTS), catching the world’s eye by pirouetting an A320 around the Le Bourget concrete on mainwheel drive and APU power only.” I will always be proud of my Dad for what an incredible accomplishment this project represented.

I also shared my Dad with the world figuratively. He always gave a helping hand. He would share a kind word with every parent with a small child. I would sometimes encourage him to move on during these impromptu visits with complete strangers. While I’m certainly not encouraging you all to go out and start walking up to strangers, I can’t deny that my Dad did it lovingly. It worked for him. He learned this inexhaustible capacity to share love with others from his mother — my grandma — Vera Charles. She looked out for those around her who needed love. My Dad did the same. They were titans in my life, and now they are both gone. But now I look to my aunts and uncles. Vera’s children. David’s siblings. My Dad loved you all. I’m not sure how grandma and grandpa put up with all seven of you all the time. But I know that the love that pulsated through Vera, Landon, David, and Faith is alive and well in all of you.

Scripture says that, to whom much is given, much will be required. I feel wholly unworthy of the requirement in front of me to carry on this family legacy that has been given to me. Thankfully, it is not only up to me. I have a family and so many friends who loved my Dad who can help in that effort.

Foremost in that pursuit are David’s daughters-in-law, Jamie and Sarah. Jamie, you have brought so much love and peace to our family. You gave Dad four beautiful grandchildren who he loved dearly. And He adored you.

Sarah, I would not have gotten through this week without you. And Dad would not have gotten through some of his darkest moments without you. You came into his life at the perfect moment and shared with him a song that became his rallying cry. He woke up to it as his alarm every morning. Though we do not feel well, and we will not for some time, that song reminds us that we can continue to proclaim that “through it all, my eyes are on [God].” I love you dearly, Sarah. By learning from Dad, I hope to love you better each day. And, though we never met our child, I take comfort knowing that Dad is with our baby for eternity. I love you.

Evan, our family won the lottery with the firstborn son in our home. Dad was so proud of you. Your life of service to others and proclaiming God’s love carries on what he taught us every day. Between you and Dad, I have the best examples of how to live and love. As my big brother you have taught me so much, and I’m lucky to have you to step into the role of father figure for me.

To Landon, Blair, Layton, and Chelsea, you were the light of Papi’s life. He cherished you every single day and he looked forward to every FaceTime and phone call and especially to every visit. He was with you not long before he passed, and I’m so glad he got to see you one last time. Most of you may not know that my Dad told my brother and I stories before bed. He made them up himself. They were called Gorton Stories, and he passed them on to my nieces and nephews. I’m so sorry that the four of you won’t get to hear Papi tell them any more. Every night this week I know I have needed another Gorton Story from my Dad. But Papi loved you so much and we will continue to share his stories with you.

To my Mom, I know the relationship between you and Dad was complex. You loved each other, and you created a home for Evan and I that was beautiful. I grew up in a home of safety, play, learning, and love. The home you created and the job you did raising us is what Dad would count as his greatest accomplishment.

To be human is to deal with failure, and my Dad had his share. To gloss over them today would be untruthful. But thinking about my Dad over the last week, it is his ability to get up from those failures and try again that stands out to me — especially now as an adult. This week, in dealing with the unbearable pain of his loss, I feel I have begun to understand him better. He dealt with unimaginable losses in his life. But that never kept him from trying again.

My Dad would never forgive me for keeping things sad, so let me give a humorous example. He ran cross country his first semester at Purdue after an accomplished high school record at Northwood. Running cross country at a D-1 level is a major accomplishment. But, as Dad would tell you, Purdue was not known for cross country at the time. He hadn’t made the travel squad, so he could only run in their one home meet. As he was coming up to the finish line, they were taking it down. The cheerleaders turned around, realizing that there was another runner left, and started cheering “Boiler Up!”. That day he knew his cross-country career was over. But that did not stop him from running a full marathon in under 4 hours. He tried.

Many of you will be familiar with the other struggles my Dad had. He sought help for them. Through those struggles, he met others who needed help and he shared his boundless love with them. He never gave up. The day before he passed, he told me he had reached a new low weight since he had started cycling. His love for cycling became a focus of his last few years. He had gotten to the point where he was sometimes riding 30 miles at a time. He would even bring his bike with him on trips. I am so proud of him for continuing to try. It feels so unfair that he had been seeing such gains and then we lost him so suddenly. I thought I had many more years with him.

As unfair as that feels, I choose to focus on how he tried. I have dark moments where I consider giving up. I held my Dad when he was sobbing once. I held his hand during a diabetic episode. I saw his struggles. But he never gave up, and I know now that I can’t either.

I’m so glad that we can be here in this setting today. Church was vital to my Dad. From his early years in the Brethren in Christ church to many years here at Hillside and then to his final year at Franklin Community Church, he was steadfast in his service to the church communities he was part of. Just days before his passing, he built a swing set for the playground at Franklin Community Church. That’s just about a perfect picture of my Dad. Using his ingenuity, he built something that will bring joy to children at church for years to come.

What may be most memorable about my Dad is that — despite his struggles — he never lost that sense of joy. Joy may be the word most associated with my Dad — for good reason. I will miss his smile, his laugh, and his hugs. The world seems darker without them. Growing up in church we would sing about having joy like a fountain. No one showed that better than my Dad. That joy was contagious, and that means that the world doesn’t have to be darker even though we have lost him. The joy came from a fountain deeper than he created. It came from his faith in Jesus Christ as his Savior. That is a fountain that all of us can tap into.

We can all choose joy like my Dad did. When you see a friend up ahead in the grocery store, you can talk to them instead of ducking down the aisle. When someone needs help moving, you can volunteer. When you get a chance to sing, you can sing out with everything you have. I used to roll my eyes at that too. But I’d give anything to hear that bellowing voice again.

I had a special relationship with my Dad. I bear his name as my middle name. People sometimes tell me I remind them of him. While I will never be able to fill my Dad’s shoes, I always respond that it is the best compliment I could ever get. I can’t imagine a better father. He knew I loved him, and I knew he loved me. We said it to each other, and we showed it. He read everything I wrote and always told me how much he loved my writing. For his birthday one year, I worked it out so that he could take the game ball out to the mound at Wrigley Field. I will cherish those memories. They are worth more than any price tag. I was blessed with chances to recognize him while he was alive, and I’m so glad I took them. My Dad was incredibly special to me.

As much as I love writing, I can’t put into words all that he meant to me. I will have to use the remaining years I have on this earth to try to show it. To live in a way that he would be proud of.

If you all join me in that — choosing to live with joy and love others — my Dad’s impact will continue to resonate. He was so special to me that I often wanted to keep his light to myself. But his light was brighter than that. Today, I’m so thankful that I didn’t have my Dad to myself. I shared him with all of you. I shared him with the world. The world was and will continue to be a better place because of David Lane Charles.

I love you, Dad. I will miss you every day for the rest of my life. But I am so thankful that I could be your son. I had 32 wonderful years with you in my life. The pain of my remaining years without you will pale in comparison to the joy I had with you.

I love you, Dad. Thank you.