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Interesting Obituaries
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Looks like this guy worked hard in spite of the challenges life threw him. I always wonder who writes these interesting obituaries? Maybe one of his daughters?
https://www.familyfuneralhome.net/obituary/james-dittman
James "Jim" Dittman, 70, of Highmore, passed away Monday, March 30, 2020 at Avera St. Mary's Hospital in Pierre after one last slug fest with Multiple Sclerosis (MS).
Due to the current threat of the Covid-19 pandemic and restrictions, private burial service is planned at the Highmore Cemetery, along with a celebration at a later date. If you would like to honor Jim in the meantime, go ahead and work 28 hours per day, 8 days a week.
James Walter Dittman was born August 1, 1949 to Fred and Pearl (Bawdon) Dittman. His childhood rivaled a Huck Finn adventure: taking care of livestock on the family farm, spending more time outside than inside of his one-room country schoolhouse (After he had walked there. Uphill. Both ways. Probably in a blizzard.), learning life lessons the hard way, and pranking the local police. “Wildman” graduated from Highmore High School in 1967.
Legend has it, Jim’s farming career began at the ripe old age of six when his dad grew tired of him constantly being underfoot, so he allowed Jim to drive his own tractor and haying equipment. His life-long love affair with (aka addiction to) the cattle business began as a teen “with one calf and my dad’s corn”. Jim was well-respected for his keen eye for quality and his livestock marketing abilities. While Jim generally preferred dealing with animals over people, he befriended a wide range of characters in the livestock industry over the years.
Throughout his entire life, Jim considered the phrase “you can’t” as a personal challenge and took extreme pleasure in proving others wrong. This was never more evident than after he was diagnosed with MS at the age of 36. He refused to use his disease and disability as an excuse; instead he relied on grit and stubbornness to expand his business and continue to support his family. Even as his disease progressed, he continued to put in a full day’s work.
The best decision Jim ever made was marrying his high school sweetheart, Shirley Kusser, on February 1, 1969. Shirley served as the dedicated mother to his children, farm labor, secretary, cook, and later Jim’s sole caregiver despite his advanced disease. Together they raised three daughters. His preference would have been three boys but it turns out girls can be great farmhands too. Jim frequently reminded his girls how lucky they were to “get to” work with him all summer and he loved to take credit for their work ethic.
His grandchildren will remember their Papa for allowing them to “drive” his pickup with his assistance around the farm as preschoolers, and then independently once they met his stringent qualification of being able to both reach the gas pedal and see out the windshield; their partnerships to secure dessert from Grandma; giving them the opportunity to operate farm equipment; and allowing them to do almost anything else they wanted.
Jim fought the war MS had waged against him every day for over 34 years. Knowing that Jim likes to have the last word and is a sore loser, we think he would point out the pain and suffering of MS died with him, so technically they ended in a tie.
Left to tell stories about the grumpy guy are his wife, Shirley; daughters: Jackie (Steve) Peck of Prosper, TX, Deb (Collin) Gengerke of Groton, SD, and Bridget Dittman of Franklin, TN; grandchildren: Kendra, Devon, Jenna, and Grant Peck; Patrick, Trey, and Brooke Gengerke; and Brandon Bates; and numerous extended family members.
Jim’s dad and father-in-law, Joe greeted him and his pristine new body on the other side with some perfectly prepared beef and a huge serving of cake and ice cream before they set out for the feedlot.
https://www.familyfuneralhome.net/obituary/james-dittman
James "Jim" Dittman, 70, of Highmore, passed away Monday, March 30, 2020 at Avera St. Mary's Hospital in Pierre after one last slug fest with Multiple Sclerosis (MS).
Due to the current threat of the Covid-19 pandemic and restrictions, private burial service is planned at the Highmore Cemetery, along with a celebration at a later date. If you would like to honor Jim in the meantime, go ahead and work 28 hours per day, 8 days a week.
James Walter Dittman was born August 1, 1949 to Fred and Pearl (Bawdon) Dittman. His childhood rivaled a Huck Finn adventure: taking care of livestock on the family farm, spending more time outside than inside of his one-room country schoolhouse (After he had walked there. Uphill. Both ways. Probably in a blizzard.), learning life lessons the hard way, and pranking the local police. “Wildman” graduated from Highmore High School in 1967.
Legend has it, Jim’s farming career began at the ripe old age of six when his dad grew tired of him constantly being underfoot, so he allowed Jim to drive his own tractor and haying equipment. His life-long love affair with (aka addiction to) the cattle business began as a teen “with one calf and my dad’s corn”. Jim was well-respected for his keen eye for quality and his livestock marketing abilities. While Jim generally preferred dealing with animals over people, he befriended a wide range of characters in the livestock industry over the years.
Throughout his entire life, Jim considered the phrase “you can’t” as a personal challenge and took extreme pleasure in proving others wrong. This was never more evident than after he was diagnosed with MS at the age of 36. He refused to use his disease and disability as an excuse; instead he relied on grit and stubbornness to expand his business and continue to support his family. Even as his disease progressed, he continued to put in a full day’s work.
The best decision Jim ever made was marrying his high school sweetheart, Shirley Kusser, on February 1, 1969. Shirley served as the dedicated mother to his children, farm labor, secretary, cook, and later Jim’s sole caregiver despite his advanced disease. Together they raised three daughters. His preference would have been three boys but it turns out girls can be great farmhands too. Jim frequently reminded his girls how lucky they were to “get to” work with him all summer and he loved to take credit for their work ethic.
His grandchildren will remember their Papa for allowing them to “drive” his pickup with his assistance around the farm as preschoolers, and then independently once they met his stringent qualification of being able to both reach the gas pedal and see out the windshield; their partnerships to secure dessert from Grandma; giving them the opportunity to operate farm equipment; and allowing them to do almost anything else they wanted.
Jim fought the war MS had waged against him every day for over 34 years. Knowing that Jim likes to have the last word and is a sore loser, we think he would point out the pain and suffering of MS died with him, so technically they ended in a tie.
Left to tell stories about the grumpy guy are his wife, Shirley; daughters: Jackie (Steve) Peck of Prosper, TX, Deb (Collin) Gengerke of Groton, SD, and Bridget Dittman of Franklin, TN; grandchildren: Kendra, Devon, Jenna, and Grant Peck; Patrick, Trey, and Brooke Gengerke; and Brandon Bates; and numerous extended family members.
Jim’s dad and father-in-law, Joe greeted him and his pristine new body on the other side with some perfectly prepared beef and a huge serving of cake and ice cream before they set out for the feedlot.
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I recently came across this obituary. This was a man that I went to college with. I had classes with him, but doubt that we ever spoke. I worked in the library and may have helped him check out books, but have no specific memory of that. It is his name that has always stuck with me, Joseph Lends His Horses, Sr. I see that he is going to be buried in the National Cemetery in Sturgis, SD.
https://www.familyfuneralhome.net/obituary/joseph-lends-his-horse-sr
Joseph A. Lends His Horse Sr., 83, of Eagle Butte, passed away Friday, April 16, 2021 at Monument Health, Rapid City.
Due to COVID restrictions, the family is holding a private, family only service followed by a military burial at Black Hills National Cemetery, Sturgis, SD. All are welcome to visit his gravesite after 1:00 p.m., Tuesday, April 20, 2021.
Joseph Andrew Lends His Horse was born to William and Mary (Longie) Lends His Horse on February 21, 1938 at the Old Agency. He attended school at Eagle Butte and Gettysburg. After graduation he enlisted in the U.S. Navy and served from 1957 through 1959 on the USS Atule as a Radar Man.
Joe was joined in marriage to Alvina (Beanie) Baker in 1960 and spent 43 years together until her death in 2003. Together they raised five kids and were present in the lives of their many grandkids and great grandkids. Dad Stayed healthy enough to be present in the lives of two great-great grandkids, Katai (Tyra/Kaytonna) and Tristan (Trinity/Trevor).
Dad took great pride in being a “cowboy”. He grew up ranching and was very proud to rope well enough that he earned a buckle. He was a naturally gifted artist. He spent many years playing stringed instruments and singing in bands. He was a leather smith who enjoyed designing and tooling belts, billfolds, and saddles. His artistry challenged him to design a parade float that won first place during the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribal Fair, a guitar entitled “fair time is dancing time.”
Dad’s true passion was that of “Education”. He received degrees from Presentation College, Aberdeen, SD, Dakota Wesleyan University, Mitchell, SD, and Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ. He encouraged it and lived his life devoted to promoting and working in educational institutions as an administrator or instructor. He was proud to serve as a College President at several colleges across the country.
Dad’s strength, wisdom, guidance and especially humor will be truly missed. Humor always finds a way to get us through good times and bad, no matter what the circumstance. He was our family’s comic relief and after our mother’s passing in 2003, our sister, Charlene, became his primary caretaker and spent the last 18 years witnessing and relaying stories of Dad that filled us with laughter. You would often see them together at restaurants, sporting events, playing slots, or just driving around. Dad was my sister’s “best friend”.
He is survived by his children: Joe Lends His Horse Jr., Charlene Lends His Horse, Madonna (Humphrey) Long, Lou (Trina) Lends His Horse, and Wally Lends His Horse; grandchildren and great grandchildren too numerous to list; and two great-great grandchildren.
https://www.familyfuneralhome.net/obituary/joseph-lends-his-horse-sr
Joseph A. Lends His Horse Sr., 83, of Eagle Butte, passed away Friday, April 16, 2021 at Monument Health, Rapid City.
Due to COVID restrictions, the family is holding a private, family only service followed by a military burial at Black Hills National Cemetery, Sturgis, SD. All are welcome to visit his gravesite after 1:00 p.m., Tuesday, April 20, 2021.
Joseph Andrew Lends His Horse was born to William and Mary (Longie) Lends His Horse on February 21, 1938 at the Old Agency. He attended school at Eagle Butte and Gettysburg. After graduation he enlisted in the U.S. Navy and served from 1957 through 1959 on the USS Atule as a Radar Man.
Joe was joined in marriage to Alvina (Beanie) Baker in 1960 and spent 43 years together until her death in 2003. Together they raised five kids and were present in the lives of their many grandkids and great grandkids. Dad Stayed healthy enough to be present in the lives of two great-great grandkids, Katai (Tyra/Kaytonna) and Tristan (Trinity/Trevor).
Dad took great pride in being a “cowboy”. He grew up ranching and was very proud to rope well enough that he earned a buckle. He was a naturally gifted artist. He spent many years playing stringed instruments and singing in bands. He was a leather smith who enjoyed designing and tooling belts, billfolds, and saddles. His artistry challenged him to design a parade float that won first place during the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribal Fair, a guitar entitled “fair time is dancing time.”
Dad’s true passion was that of “Education”. He received degrees from Presentation College, Aberdeen, SD, Dakota Wesleyan University, Mitchell, SD, and Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ. He encouraged it and lived his life devoted to promoting and working in educational institutions as an administrator or instructor. He was proud to serve as a College President at several colleges across the country.
Dad’s strength, wisdom, guidance and especially humor will be truly missed. Humor always finds a way to get us through good times and bad, no matter what the circumstance. He was our family’s comic relief and after our mother’s passing in 2003, our sister, Charlene, became his primary caretaker and spent the last 18 years witnessing and relaying stories of Dad that filled us with laughter. You would often see them together at restaurants, sporting events, playing slots, or just driving around. Dad was my sister’s “best friend”.
He is survived by his children: Joe Lends His Horse Jr., Charlene Lends His Horse, Madonna (Humphrey) Long, Lou (Trina) Lends His Horse, and Wally Lends His Horse; grandchildren and great grandchildren too numerous to list; and two great-great grandchildren.
Saved the cost of a second postage stamp!
Here lies Lester Moore
Four slugs from a .44
No Les No More.
Four slugs from a .44
No Les No More.
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I always wonder about the people who write these obituaries. I know a man from my hometown used to write crazy stuff about people.
https://www.bairdfh.com/obituaries/Deni-Miller-Coleman?obId=25681291#/celebrationWall
Our Beloved Deni Miller-Coleman
It is with utter shock and total disbelief to have to announce the unforeseen defeat of my older sister, Deni L. Miller-Coleman, on August 15th 2022. Deni grew up in Lostine, Oregon and at the age of 18, moved to Bend where she lived and died at age 45. You see, while I was living in a van down by the river, Deni came in demanding more cowbell. As I turned my head toward her surviving children Nathan, Sahalie, Dreyson and step daughter, McKenzie, a huge sasquatch appeared out of nowhere raging like a dying hyena. My brave sister could have said "not my chair, not my problem" but instead, she proceeded to roundhouse kick this beast on the side of his face and only after a good throat punching, did he finally kick rocks! In complete exhaustion Deni fell into a slumber, never to awake again. Her loving parents, Ken and Ginger Miller, sadly missed all the action but they know that she fought a great battle. Deni's adoring siblings Chris, Lane, and I, Jennifer Miller, will forever cherish every fond and not so fond memory we have our beloved sister. Deni Lyn Miller-Coleman, our higher power gets to laugh at your phenomenal humor now, but you will forever be missed down her on ground zero.
https://www.bairdfh.com/obituaries/Deni-Miller-Coleman?obId=25681291#/celebrationWall
Our Beloved Deni Miller-Coleman
It is with utter shock and total disbelief to have to announce the unforeseen defeat of my older sister, Deni L. Miller-Coleman, on August 15th 2022. Deni grew up in Lostine, Oregon and at the age of 18, moved to Bend where she lived and died at age 45. You see, while I was living in a van down by the river, Deni came in demanding more cowbell. As I turned my head toward her surviving children Nathan, Sahalie, Dreyson and step daughter, McKenzie, a huge sasquatch appeared out of nowhere raging like a dying hyena. My brave sister could have said "not my chair, not my problem" but instead, she proceeded to roundhouse kick this beast on the side of his face and only after a good throat punching, did he finally kick rocks! In complete exhaustion Deni fell into a slumber, never to awake again. Her loving parents, Ken and Ginger Miller, sadly missed all the action but they know that she fought a great battle. Deni's adoring siblings Chris, Lane, and I, Jennifer Miller, will forever cherish every fond and not so fond memory we have our beloved sister. Deni Lyn Miller-Coleman, our higher power gets to laugh at your phenomenal humor now, but you will forever be missed down her on ground zero.
Thats different..but I kinda like that one
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https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/jsonline/name/mary-mullaney-obituary?id=3365786
MARY MULLANEY OBITUARY
Mullaney, Mary A. "Pink" If you're about to throw away an old pair of pantyhose, stop. Consider: Mary Agnes Mullaney (you probably knew her as "Pink") who entered eternal life on Sunday, September 1, 2013. Her spirit is carried on by her six children, 17 grandchildren, three surviving siblings in New "Joisey", and an extended family of relations and friends from every walk of life. We were blessed to learn many valuable lessons from Pink during her 85 years, among them: Never throw away old pantyhose. Use the old ones to tie gutters, child-proof cabinets, tie toilet flappers, or hang Christmas ornaments. Also: If a possum takes up residence in your shed, grab a barbecue brush to coax him out. If he doesn't leave, brush him for twenty minutes and let him stay. Let a dog (or two or three) share your bed. Say the rosary while you walk them. Go to church with a chicken sandwich in your purse. Cry at the consecration, every time. Give the chicken sandwich to your homeless friend after mass. Go to a nursing home and kiss everyone. When you learn someone's name, share their patron saint's story, and their feast day, so they can celebrate. Invite new friends to Thanksgiving dinner. If they are from another country and you have trouble understanding them, learn to "listen with an accent." Never say mean things about anybody; they are "poor souls to pray for." Put picky-eating children in the box at the bottom of the laundry chute, tell them they are hungry lions in a cage, and feed them veggies through the slats. Correspond with the imprisoned and have lunch with the cognitively challenged. Do the Jumble every morning. Keep the car keys under the front seat so they don't get lost. Make the car dance by lightly tapping the brakes to the beat of songs on the radio. Offer rides to people carrying a big load or caught in the rain or summer heat. Believe the hitchhiker you pick up who says he is a landscaper and his name is "Peat Moss." Help anyone struggling to get their kids into a car or shopping cart or across a parking lot. Give to every charity that asks. Choose to believe the best about what they do with your money, no matter what your children say they discovered online. Allow the homeless to keep warm in your car while you are at Mass. Take magazines you've already read to your doctors' office for others to enjoy. Do not tear off the mailing label, "Because if someone wants to contact me, that would be nice." In her lifetime, Pink made contact time after time. Those who've taken her lessons to heart will continue to ensure that a cold drink will be left for the overheated garbage collector and mail carrier, every baby will be kissed, every nursing home resident will be visited, the hungry will have a sandwich, the guest will have a warm bed and soft nightlight, and the encroaching possum will know the soothing sensation of a barbecue brush upon its back. Above all, Pink wrote - to everyone, about everything. You may read this and recall a letter from her that touched your heart, tickled your funny bone, or maybe made you say "huh?" She is survived by her children and grandchildren whose photos she would share with prospective friends in the checkout line: Tim (wife Janice, children Timmy, Joey, T.J., Miki and Danny); Kevin (wife Kathy, children Kacey, Ryan, Jordan and Kevin); Jerry (wife Gita, children Nisha and Cathan); MaryAnne; Peter (wife Maria Jose, children Rodrigo and Paulo); and Meg (husband David Vartanian, children Peter, Lily, Jerry and Blase); siblings Anne, Helen, and Robert; and many in-laws, nieces, nephews, friends and family too numerous to list but not forgotten. Pink is reunited with her husband and favorite dance and political debate partner, Dr. Gerald L. Mullaney, and is predeceased by six siblings. Friends (and strangers she would love to have met) can visit with Pink's family at the Feerick Funeral Home on Thursday, September 5, from 3 until 7 PM with prayer service at 6:45 PM. Mass of the Christian Burial will be celebrated at St. Monica's Catholic Church in Whitefish Bay on Friday, September 6, at 3 PM. Dress comfortably with a splash of pink if you have it. In Pink's memory donations may be made to Dominican High School, 120 E. Silver Spring Dr., Whitefish Bay, WI 53217, or Saint Monica Parish, 160 E. Silver Spring Dr., Whitefish Bay, WI 53217, or any charity that seeks to spread the Good News of Pink's friend, Jesus. Valet Parking in front of the funeral home on Thursday.
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My mother in law's name is not Deloris, won't have to change much, using this!!
Yep, I did say that!!
I don't think so, I always thought that being a *itch was a full-time jobWhoa, Deloris had a hobby apparently!!
.
I didn't want to come.
I wasn't wanted here,
Now I'm gone and still
nobody is happy!
One I wasn't
Then I was
Now I ain't again.
When I'm in a somber mood,
I worry, work, and think.
When I'm in a joyful mood,
I gamble play and drink
But now my moods are over
my time has come to pass, I
hope I got buried upside down
so the world can kiss my ***!
That new star is me waving goodbye.
I wasn't wanted here,
Now I'm gone and still
nobody is happy!
One I wasn't
Then I was
Now I ain't again.
When I'm in a somber mood,
I worry, work, and think.
When I'm in a joyful mood,
I gamble play and drink
But now my moods are over
my time has come to pass, I
hope I got buried upside down
so the world can kiss my ***!
That new star is me waving goodbye.
It's really a lifestyle!!I don't think so, I always thought that being a *itch was a full-time job
Yup. being an A-hole takes effort and skill.
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This obituary seems to have been somewhat copied from the one I'm quotingMcDonald, Katy Lynn
McDonald, Katy Lynn
Served In A Variety Of Civic Capacities
Friday, December 20, 2019
Katy McDonald
Katy Lynn McDonald escaped this mortal realm on December 14, 2019. She was 80, we think. The family believes she did it on purpose to avoid having to cast another vote in the American elections.
Katy was world-renowned (#itsasmallworldafterall) for her generosity and kind disposition. She never met a stranger but she brought a few home (David W., you were our favorite). Mom offered a charm, wit, and undying love to those who were her friends. She was simply an amazing gal, part saint part sinner all bundled up into one marvelous package. If you were fortunate to have met her, you’d have liked her immediately… she was just that kind of person.
She was a studied cook of the old Southern school. Her chicken and dumplin’ recipe was, as Tina would say, simply the best—a remarkable meal. Her recipes were used to feed thousands of patients when she worked as a dietary professional at Red Bank Hospital. Her cornbread was a favorite among patients and employees of the hospital—the recipe is untouchable… seriously, we can’t find it. If anyone has a copy, please let the family know.
Katy served in a variety of civic capacities: A Cub Scout den mother, a Boy Scout parent, a Brownie and Girl Scout mom, a baseball mom and volunteer (she managed the concessions and we got free candy), on the PTA (remember those?), and in various capacities at the Northside Presbyterian Church. And, most importantly, she loved gardening and growing stuff. She also did a whole lot of other things for us when we were kids, but we were too busy to make notes (sorry Mom). However, we do sincerely appreciate her selfless sacrifices and various lessons of life, like how to use a napkin; to not eat soup with a fork; to say “please” and “thank you”; to call each-and-every-one of her and dad’s friends “Mr. and Mrs.”; and lots more.
She was preceded in death by the father of her four children, Charles Alan McDonald, whom she loved to her dying day, and her beloved family pets, Simon the Siamese cat; Peanut the wiener dog; Sugar the howling dog; Daisy the very-special-extremely-important stray dog; and most notably, Jack her darling mutt who once lost his tail in an unfortunate accident, whereupon Mom saved the tail in the freezer “…just in case…” (go figure).
She leaves behind her sons, Charles Alan “Chuck” (Jan); David Carl (Diane); Robert Edward (Golf); and her daughter Cynthia Lynn Mendenhall (Jerry). She also scurried out on a bunch of grandchildren, Tiffany McDonald; Cody McDonald; Meghan McDonald; Keely McDonald-Bamrick (John); Scott Mendenhall (Hannah); Anthony Mundis (Sarah); Katy Mendenhall-Ying (John); Kinsley Kilgore; and one great grandson called Mason Michael Mendenhall (Cute child. Thief of hearts.).
She left behind a lot of old stuff that her kids don’t know what to do with. Anyone interested in some nick nacks, a bell, some art books, gardening tools, a couch, or old jewelry. Please wait the appropriate amount of time to reach out. Tomorrow should be fine.
The family will host visitors on Saturday, Dec. 21, from noon to 2 p.m. at St. Jude Catholic Church on Ashland Terrace. A Catholic Mass will follow at 2 p.m., after which the family will gather with friends to share stories and toast a life well lived.
Finally, the family asks that in lieu of flowers, please write your congressman and ask for the repeal of Day Light Savings Time. We think Mom would like it if we were all on the Lord’s Time.
Mowell Funeral Home & Cremation Service, Peachtree City – www.mowells.com
https://nypost.com/2016/08/15/this-...iest-thing-you-read-all-day/?sr_share=twitter===========================
He assures us he is gone.
William Ziegler escaped this mortal realm on Friday, July 29, 2016 at the age of 69.
We think he did it on purpose to avoid having to make a decision in the pending presidential election.
He leaves behind four children, five grandchildren, and the potted meat industry, for which he was an unofficial spokesman until dietary restrictions forced him to eat real food.
William volunteered for service in the United States Navy at the ripe old age of 17 and immediately realized he didn’t much enjoy being bossed around. He only stuck it out for one war.
Before his discharge, however, the government exchanged numerous ribbons and medals for various honorable acts.
Upon his return to the City of New Orleans in 1971, thinking it best to keep an eye on him, government officials hired William as a fireman.
After twenty-five years, he suddenly realized that running away from burning buildings made more sense than running toward them. He promptly retired.
Looking back, William stated that there was no better group of morons and mental patients than those he had the privilege of serving with (except Bob, he never liked you, Bob).
Following his wishes, there will not be a service, but well wishers are encouraged to write a note of farewell on a Schaefer Light beer can and drink it in his honor.
He was never one for sentiment or religiosity, but he wanted you to know that if he owes you a beer, and if you can find him in Heaven, he will gladly allow you to buy him another.
He can likely be found forwarding tasteless internet jokes (check your spam folder, but don’t open these at work). Expect to find an alcoholic dog named Judge passed out at his feet. Unlike previous times, this is not a ploy to avoid creditors or old girlfriends. He assures us that he is gone. He will be greatly missed.
I enjoyed this thread! Anyone have new ones they've seen?
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I wish I did! I love to read these as well.
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This is sad, but the obituary shows a mother's love.
https://www.legacy.com/us/obituarie...pel-obituary?id=10154889#sthash.xF191mAA.dpuf
My beautiful son, Spencer Watson Seupel, of High Falls, New York, took his own life in his fraternity room at Penn State, State College, PA early in the morning of Friday, February 17, 2012. He was 21 years old. Spencer is survived by his brother, Taylor, his mother Celia, his father Herbert, and his grandmother, Genie Watson. Spencer's funeral will be held at Copeland Funeral Home, Inc., 162 South Putt Corners Road, New Paltz, NY 12561 Thursday, February 23, 2012. Friends and relatives may visit at the funeral home from 2-4pm; a Celebration of Life Service will begin there at 4pm. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in Spencer's name to www.benspeaks.org, an organization founded by my in-laws to help prevent teen suicide.
The Story:
Spencer loved to be always moving. As a baby, he could be held close only in sleep. As soon as he could stand, he was jumping. As soon as he could walk, he was running.
Once, when we were in New York City's Central Park, we came upon a ring of people listening to the haunting Peruvian flutes. Spencer, who was two, ran into the empty space and began to dance. He turned round and round, he jumped, he rolled on the ground and came up waving his arms. Spencer loved to dance and later even studied dance in New Paltz.
But he gave up dance for baseball, the more manly sport. Later it was lacrosse and football. Spencer, like all boys in our society, began looking for ways to be a man - as if being himself were not enough. I remember the rage and frustration he felt in Little League when he struck out; the unbearable self-hated. My unending gratitude to Frank Coddington, a coach who saw something special in Spencer and helped Spencer develop what he could be good at - his speed. Spencer was always fast.
It seems early on Spencer felt he was not good enough. I don't know why, but I do know it is something many young people feel today. How much teen and youth suicide do we have to endure? In 2007, suicide was the third leading cause of death for young people ages 15 to 24. There is despair among the young of our society that springs from a misapprehension of what it means to be human.
Every human needs to feel special, to feel that he or she belongs as a valued member, to feel appreciated and honored by others. But so many of us don't. In our huge anonymous schools and conformist youth culture, in our adult world of fame and wealth, social climbing and cool, competition and winning seem to be the only means of finding what we need. We have lost our way.
Love and tolerance is the way - the antithesis of teenage culture. As adults, we preach love and tolerance at school, then fail to lead by example. In business, in sports, in entertainment, in personal relationships and in the media … how often do adults place people before profit, a helping hand before blame, caring ahead of winning, others ahead of self?
Spencer's true nature was one of extreme sensitivity. He was easily and deeply wounded; he cried when others were cruel. When Spencer was in sixth grade, he told me he thought he should see a doctor because at times, "water" came out of his eyes. Of course, he was not crying; that was not manly.
But Spencer was very smart, resourceful, ambitious and determined. As he grew, he built a new and tougher personality: a personality of cool, of fun, of hard work and goals. He built stubborn walls to protect that fragile self. He constructed a defensive, brittle confidence. He made friends; he gave parties; he got drunk; he achieved Eagle Scout; he drove fast.
What Spencer really wanted, more than anything else, was closeness. He wanted to be a doctor so he could help others; he was an EMT. How ironic; how typical: His own walls and drive to be the best kept him apart from the closeness he craved. Ever determined, he worked hard on understanding what he was doing wrong, how he could be a better person, a better friend. And I think he was really beginning to get it.
Drinking sabotaged all that: seductive, deadly alcohol. The drug that brings down the walls and helps us feel close - as long as we're drunk. The drug that circles back and rakes out your heart.
The afternoon before Spencer died, he called me between classes. He was thrilled and excited about a lecture he'd just heard about nanotechnology and medicine. "This is the future," he said. "This is what's going to pull our country out of recession." Spencer had just won an internship for the summer. He was planning on applying to a med school that emphasized the special relationship between doctor and patient. He was excited about his future.
That night, Spencer got very, very drunk. Binge drinking at college has been a regular thing since freshman year. Why didn't he get the proper help?
Thursday night was one of those binge nights at the frat. He had a fight with his best friend. He said he was going to kill himself. He locked his door and did it. He did not leave a note. He did not look for help. Alcohol brought down those prefabricated walls, and all that was left was thoughtless pain.
It was stupid and impulsive and he would not have done this thing if he had not been drunk. Spencer had plans and goals and family that loved him. He knew this. We talked about it -Spencer said he would never do such a thing. But he did. Because of alcohol. The drunken impulse in a moment of despair that can never be taken back.
Kids drink this way because they need to escape their own false personalities. They strive to be the best, to be cool, to be popular and successful. Underneath, it's all about the same old human needs: to feel valued, to feel important and special, to belong, to be loved.
Lectures and platitudes to the young will never change their society. We must all be the agents of change. Our society, as it gets bigger and more global, must evolve just as our species has evolved. Each of us, at work in the office, at home, in the post office, at the grocery store and in the government, must honor and value each person we encounter. How would your day be if, instead of trying to be right, you were trying to help?
In the media, we must pay homage to the ordinary hero: not the superstar, but the man who goes to work and loves his kids, the person of integrity who has the courage of his convictions. The culture of children in huge schools should not be left to run amok with misguided values, churning out young men and women who believe that social status is the measure of their worth. It is more than destructive; it is brutal, a de-evolution of humanity.
Now Spencer, finally, is at rest, and I hold him close within me. Please hold him close, as I do, in your mind and your spirit. Remember the meaning of this tragedy. If a young man or woman says maybe I'll kill myself, tell someone. Don't leave him alone. If a young man or woman drinks too much, say something. It's not a game; it's a symptom. And let us find and encourage within ourselves, within our society, those gifts that make each of us special: not star power, not intellectual prowess, but the ineffable mystery and extraordinary beauty of the simple human heart.
https://www.legacy.com/us/obituarie...pel-obituary?id=10154889#sthash.xF191mAA.dpuf
My beautiful son, Spencer Watson Seupel, of High Falls, New York, took his own life in his fraternity room at Penn State, State College, PA early in the morning of Friday, February 17, 2012. He was 21 years old. Spencer is survived by his brother, Taylor, his mother Celia, his father Herbert, and his grandmother, Genie Watson. Spencer's funeral will be held at Copeland Funeral Home, Inc., 162 South Putt Corners Road, New Paltz, NY 12561 Thursday, February 23, 2012. Friends and relatives may visit at the funeral home from 2-4pm; a Celebration of Life Service will begin there at 4pm. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in Spencer's name to www.benspeaks.org, an organization founded by my in-laws to help prevent teen suicide.
The Story:
Spencer loved to be always moving. As a baby, he could be held close only in sleep. As soon as he could stand, he was jumping. As soon as he could walk, he was running.
Once, when we were in New York City's Central Park, we came upon a ring of people listening to the haunting Peruvian flutes. Spencer, who was two, ran into the empty space and began to dance. He turned round and round, he jumped, he rolled on the ground and came up waving his arms. Spencer loved to dance and later even studied dance in New Paltz.
But he gave up dance for baseball, the more manly sport. Later it was lacrosse and football. Spencer, like all boys in our society, began looking for ways to be a man - as if being himself were not enough. I remember the rage and frustration he felt in Little League when he struck out; the unbearable self-hated. My unending gratitude to Frank Coddington, a coach who saw something special in Spencer and helped Spencer develop what he could be good at - his speed. Spencer was always fast.
It seems early on Spencer felt he was not good enough. I don't know why, but I do know it is something many young people feel today. How much teen and youth suicide do we have to endure? In 2007, suicide was the third leading cause of death for young people ages 15 to 24. There is despair among the young of our society that springs from a misapprehension of what it means to be human.
Every human needs to feel special, to feel that he or she belongs as a valued member, to feel appreciated and honored by others. But so many of us don't. In our huge anonymous schools and conformist youth culture, in our adult world of fame and wealth, social climbing and cool, competition and winning seem to be the only means of finding what we need. We have lost our way.
Love and tolerance is the way - the antithesis of teenage culture. As adults, we preach love and tolerance at school, then fail to lead by example. In business, in sports, in entertainment, in personal relationships and in the media … how often do adults place people before profit, a helping hand before blame, caring ahead of winning, others ahead of self?
Spencer's true nature was one of extreme sensitivity. He was easily and deeply wounded; he cried when others were cruel. When Spencer was in sixth grade, he told me he thought he should see a doctor because at times, "water" came out of his eyes. Of course, he was not crying; that was not manly.
But Spencer was very smart, resourceful, ambitious and determined. As he grew, he built a new and tougher personality: a personality of cool, of fun, of hard work and goals. He built stubborn walls to protect that fragile self. He constructed a defensive, brittle confidence. He made friends; he gave parties; he got drunk; he achieved Eagle Scout; he drove fast.
What Spencer really wanted, more than anything else, was closeness. He wanted to be a doctor so he could help others; he was an EMT. How ironic; how typical: His own walls and drive to be the best kept him apart from the closeness he craved. Ever determined, he worked hard on understanding what he was doing wrong, how he could be a better person, a better friend. And I think he was really beginning to get it.
Drinking sabotaged all that: seductive, deadly alcohol. The drug that brings down the walls and helps us feel close - as long as we're drunk. The drug that circles back and rakes out your heart.
The afternoon before Spencer died, he called me between classes. He was thrilled and excited about a lecture he'd just heard about nanotechnology and medicine. "This is the future," he said. "This is what's going to pull our country out of recession." Spencer had just won an internship for the summer. He was planning on applying to a med school that emphasized the special relationship between doctor and patient. He was excited about his future.
That night, Spencer got very, very drunk. Binge drinking at college has been a regular thing since freshman year. Why didn't he get the proper help?
Thursday night was one of those binge nights at the frat. He had a fight with his best friend. He said he was going to kill himself. He locked his door and did it. He did not leave a note. He did not look for help. Alcohol brought down those prefabricated walls, and all that was left was thoughtless pain.
It was stupid and impulsive and he would not have done this thing if he had not been drunk. Spencer had plans and goals and family that loved him. He knew this. We talked about it -Spencer said he would never do such a thing. But he did. Because of alcohol. The drunken impulse in a moment of despair that can never be taken back.
Kids drink this way because they need to escape their own false personalities. They strive to be the best, to be cool, to be popular and successful. Underneath, it's all about the same old human needs: to feel valued, to feel important and special, to belong, to be loved.
Lectures and platitudes to the young will never change their society. We must all be the agents of change. Our society, as it gets bigger and more global, must evolve just as our species has evolved. Each of us, at work in the office, at home, in the post office, at the grocery store and in the government, must honor and value each person we encounter. How would your day be if, instead of trying to be right, you were trying to help?
In the media, we must pay homage to the ordinary hero: not the superstar, but the man who goes to work and loves his kids, the person of integrity who has the courage of his convictions. The culture of children in huge schools should not be left to run amok with misguided values, churning out young men and women who believe that social status is the measure of their worth. It is more than destructive; it is brutal, a de-evolution of humanity.
Now Spencer, finally, is at rest, and I hold him close within me. Please hold him close, as I do, in your mind and your spirit. Remember the meaning of this tragedy. If a young man or woman says maybe I'll kill myself, tell someone. Don't leave him alone. If a young man or woman drinks too much, say something. It's not a game; it's a symptom. And let us find and encourage within ourselves, within our society, those gifts that make each of us special: not star power, not intellectual prowess, but the ineffable mystery and extraordinary beauty of the simple human heart.
