Eulogy For Charles Gordon

I have spent most of my career in EMS learning, teaching or directly trying to combat death. During my time as an Instructor I wanted my EMT students to have an understanding of grief, death and the importance of what happens when calls don't have a positive outcome. I reached out to dozens of Coroners in the bay area asking them to come in and guest lecture with no response. By chance at a company party I met a man by the name of Charles Newman retired senior coroner with SF and SC county. I asked Charles if he would come and teach and he agreed. Charles recanted stories from his 30 thousand death investigations, some with gallows humor and some nothing short of horrible and after an hour or so of lecture Charles looked at the room and said

Anthony was a very close childhood friend. His sudden and unexpected loss affected me significantly. I knew I needed to do more. I made a promise to him, my grandfather, and myself to dedicate my life to helping individuals struggling with mental illness.

I had lived in angst my whole life, wondering how it would be different if he were around, if I had remembered to say goodbye to him that morning he left for work, what would happen if I could just hear his voice one last time. I have been searching for almost 26 years to meet this man, see what he looked like, know the type of person he is, breathe the same air as the man who killed someone I never truly got to know. I know it wasn't intentional, but I’ve been living a surly life. Hating the world, hating the situations I’ve been put in, but now I just hope that when their cars collided and my

We left independence rock and are heading for the south pass we have traveled have the way and are stopping to rest and eat. A terrible thing has happened norm cline had shot himself while he was cleaning his gun, mary flag had found him when she had heard the noise , and larry mingo our doctor had said he was dead when he got there straight through the head, he had said it looked like an accident as if he hit the trigger while cleaning the barrel. The men had spent the day digging his grave while our wife's comforted norms family. We are back on track nobody wanted to beg the clines but they almost refused to

Death is conceptually understood by few, yet experienced by many. Having a multitude of causes, death has devastated many families in various ways. Accidental deaths could be prevented, but sadly are not. In James Hurst’s short story “The Scarlet Ibis,” the narrator was responsible of Doodle’s, his younger brother's, death in the following ways: he pushed Doodle too hard to function normally, he didn't follow the doctor’s clear orders, and he left Doodle in his most desperate time of need. The narrator strove to make Doodle be a normal boy, and this was a massive factor that surrounded his death.

Self-refection is not something I like to do or consider myself well versed at accomplishing. However, as this assignment due date is drawing near I am again faced with another friend passing away. His name is Shane, and I worked with him for almost three years in my last unit. He was the definition of a quiet professional, and someone that always seemed to be level headed. He had a beautiful family, consisting of a wife and two young sons about 10 and 12 years old. While I didn’t to work with him for a long period of time, he made a lasting impression with me. He helped mentor me to make decisions only once you have calmed down, take time to look at the whole picture before choosing a course of

Tuesday, September 12th wasn’t any normal day, it was a day of remembrance and sadness. Everyone in the family met at the church at 10 a.m., we then sat there and socialized until eleven o'clock. The preacher, pianist, and singer then walked out into the chapel where we all sat, with emptiness in our hearts. The pianist then started playing a church tune, and the singer, a lady from the church, started singing. Some of the people in the family then glanced at each other and tried not to laugh at the horrid sound of the lady. After she finally stopped singing, the pastor walked up to the casket. He then said, “Bow your heads, We stand here today to honor Robert F. “Bob” Williams.”

Yesterday, my father took me to the flat of Irene Williams. It was a beautiful little place, with big windows looking out upon the busy street. She had lace curtains, a small pink couch made of velvet, and a birch coffee table. On the table was a jar full of biscuits and a cup of tea, still hot. She had pictures of friends, family, and relatives hung up on her walls. It’s a shame I never got to meet Irene, she seems like such a lovely person to talk to. But Irene Williams is dead, and let’s face it, dead people are boring to talk to. They never listen.

One of my recovery goals is to write my book about 50 years of medical disasters and yet hold on to one’s enthusiasm for life.” In his time of need he asked for help from the only people he has left to call ‘family’, people he’s helped and loved immensely for over a decade. They don’t offer help even though they have the means to do so. When asked for some compassion and assistance, they say they will pray for him and not much else. “This crisis has shown me that once I can heal up and work again, some big changes are going to be necessary.”

Nothing could prepare me for the news I received six years ago about the unexpected death of my close friend Joey. I will never forget the night he died. How I had been with him just minutes before, and how his death was totally unnecessary and preventable. A few weeks before Christmas in 2001, Joey, myself and a few of my other co-workers were closing down the local restaurant we worked at while attending Umass Lowell. It had been a busy night, and we didn't end up finishing work until 1am. Having worked all day, we were all extremely tired, and could not wait to go home. Most of us were staying in Lowell at the time, but Joey had chosen to commute to campus and therefore had to travel out to Reading. I

I could hear muted sobs as friends and family members began lashing out in tears. Yet, I stood still as ever as memories with my best friend began flashing in my head. I was best friends with a girl who lived right next door to me since birth. We told secrets and laughed with one another since the day I can recall my earliest memory as a child. It was unfortunate to see it all come to an end now that she was gone. All I saw was her lifeless body slowly turning pale on a stretcher stationed on her living room floor. This was one of those moments that makes you question how quickly life can take an unexpected turn. I wasn't willing to accept that

I was volunteering at the Career Closet that day, when a woman came in with 24 trash bags overfull with clothing, shoes, and prescription medication. As I was unloading the bags from her minivan and bringing them down to the back room of the Closet, she followed me around, telling me the story of her friend’s death. She had had a series of heart attacks and strokes, and lay dying in bed for over a year before her heart finally gave out. Her husband refused to move any of her belongings, but when he got a new girlfriend, she wanted space in their wardrobe, so she finally packed up all of the clothes and handed them off to the woman to whom I was now patiently listening ramble on and on, so she could find a place to donate them.

As I stand here, with my hand resting on your coffin, breathing in the scent of lilies and of wood-polish, the congregation is watching and waiting. The guests file into the church with the cool, morning, Melbourne breeze sending shivers down everyone’s spines. All the other guests greeted each other with upturned brows, watery eyes, forced smiles, and lingering embraces. The occasional person comes up and embraces me and tells me “everything is going to be okay," when they know its quite far from it. The crowd was growing quickly as more people flowed through the front door, all of them dressed in monotone fashions. Staring at me through the tears that fill their eyes are the people who cared and still care about you. I’m taking these few minutes to prepare myself, before I have to deliver your eulogy.

After two months of construction, the new community centre was already almost complete. My good friend Wyatt had passed away, and I am anxious for anything else to pass- especially time. There was one month left for I will die on Winston Street. I decided a drink wasn’t a bad idea, but right as I took a sip, a co-worker yelled, “Why are you stressed out?” I told them about my death, and they got worried for me. I think they believe me. One of the workers took me to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist asked, “What’s

As I stared into the window, I no longer saw the joyful spirit within me, but instead an emotionless corpse with no direction. Alone and scared, I waited and waited for Roger to return, but sadly I still sat there waiting. Roger’s was my older brother, about one week ago he left to find a job that could support the both of us. After the death of my father, just over a month ago, we struggled to get by and found ourselves fighting for survival. Ever since the disease started infesting the town, people were been dropping dead day by day. Dead corpses, broken bottles, and smoke filled the streets of London. I was afraid to leave the house because I could not bare to see shrunken pupils and hollowed out souls of people I once knew.