A Lifetime Performance

When you were with Charles, you were the most important person in the world to him. His time, money, talents, and very life were continuously offered to others. We received all this and relished in who he was. Charles loved sipping Margaret's Hope 2nd Flush Darjeeling and buying coffee for as many people as he could at Lux. He sometimes arrived at his Tuesday morning book study unprepared because he had given his book away. He had photographic memory. He had "absolute pitch"; play any note, on any instrument, and he could name or replay that note. At the age of 24, he had already composed four symphonies, three operas, multiple piano and organ works, a host of songs for voice and piano/orchestra accompaniment, string quartets and piano trios. He traveled extensively. He learned several languages; German particularly fluently. He performed many recitals at private concerts around the world, premiered and recorded works from some of the world's most exemplary living composers. Yet, foremost, we discovered rather quickly the thing which was closest to Charles' heart and soul: Jesus Christ; his mother, Louise; and everyone else he met. Charles gave us an understanding of what a life given to others looks like, feels like, and sounds like.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

His Last Outgoing Voice Mail Message

A couple people I've talked to in the last couple days shyly admitted that they called Charles' cell phone after his death, because they missed hearing his voice on his outgoing voicemail message. It's nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, the night before the answering machine was changed to inform people what happened, I - not knowing that the message would be changed - called his cell myself and recorded the outgoing voice mail message for the very same reason. 

The podcast recording you'll find here was recorded on 11/14/09. [It will open a new page, so when you're done, click your browsers 'back' button to return to this website.] It seems like the recording is done at one point, but wait for the last word from the woman's voice. It moved me in a way it never had before. 
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