This past weekend I had the bittersweet opportunity to say goodbye to one of my dearest friends and brother in all but blood, and I am struggling to put into words how much he meant to me, and how special of a guy he truly was.

How can one encapsulate and quantify an entire existence with mere words? There isn’t a language in the world capable of conveying the depth of feeling I’m experiencing, nor accurately portraying the unique, wonderful, oftentimes perplexing individual that was Charles Anthony Cino III. Anything I say is insufficient, and any thoughts I type come out broken, but I will try all the same, because Chuck deserves my best efforts to express how important and beloved he was.

So again, how does one describe the indescribable? Limited and insufficient as it is, I will attempt to use an analogy.

Are you at all familiar with Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer and gold powder? This process takes a beloved object which has been broken and painstakingly glues it back together in a way that doesn’t hide, but celebrates the damage, resulting in a new item that is all the more unique and beautiful because of its cracks and imperfections. Visually, to me Kintsugi pieces look like imperfect vessels struggling to contain a secret inner brilliance, like they are so full of intrinsic beauty that their bland, ordinary outer shells cannot fully contain their wonderous true nature.

That was Chuck.

Charlie struggled for the better part of his life with physical and mental challenges resulting from a childhood accident. I never had the privilege of meeting him before his accident, but instead came into his life after he, like a kintsugi bowl, had already been broken and put back together, changed yes, but still beautiful and golden all the same.

Although Charlie’s life was filled with hardship, he somehow never became defined by that struggle. He was dealt a raw deal but never became bitter or cruel. It is said that Gods’ hardest struggles are given to his strongest warriors, and Charlie was nothing if not resilient and strong. (Seriously, for example the number of times he broke his foot and just kept walking around on it was deep into the double digits. What an absolute mad lad.)

Like I said, I never met Charlie until after the accident that changed the trajectory of his life. I don’t know who he would have become if not for that freak fluke of bad luck. Probably a total stud. Certainly, somebody impressive. Undoubtably somebody amazing, because he was amazing even as the damaged boy, and then man, that I got to grow up alongside. A person just broken enough to let his secret golden inner core shine through.

Chuck was well over six feet tall, and well over three hundred pounds, but he radiated such a gentle, generous energy that he was never intimidating. He was truly a gentle giant who never quite fit in his body, like a clumsy puppy that has not yet grown into its too large paws and floppy ears, and he absolutely radiated puppy energy. Anything he could do for you, he would, happily, without a second thought. I met Charlie, who was a couple years older than me, through his younger brother Matthew, who was my age, and once Matt and I became friends and I started spending time at their house in middle-school, Charlie never played the aloof, too-cool, put-upon and uninterested Older Brother Being Forced To Interact With His Nerdy Younger Brother’s Nerdy Friends persona. He simply pranked me with some gentle hazing, because he was a young teenage boy after all, and then immediately welcomed me unconditionally into his orbit. That unconditional acceptance and unequivocal offer of friendship did more to shape my young and malleable psyche growing up than any number of other experiences or acquaintances. Ultimately, Charlie was Kind, and I have become a kinder man thanks to his influence.

That was Charlie though. Kind with a capital K, and Generous to a fault. Even when he had nothing, if he saw somebody in need his immediate reaction was to help. It was just an integral part of his personality to offer what little he had to share with those he cared about.

I will be forever thankful for the time I got to spend with Charl, and that through the closeness we developed after decades of friendship I got to see the true depth of beauty that was his soul. Despite being an enormous, literally larger than life individual, Chuck could actually be quite shy and would oftentimes draw into himself physically and emotionally in new company, but once he got to know you and let down his walls he bloomed into the gregarious, charming, magnificent creature that he really was.

Let me be clear. Chuckle was Good. But he was also Strange. He was perpetually childish. Endearingly innocent. He was a perplexing cryptid, a fae creature, an elusive Charlie Beast.

And boy was he Stubborn. Like, exasperatingly stubborn. With his litany of physical hardships there were oftentimes activities that he simply could not or should not take part in, but trying to talk him down once he made up his mind to try was like speaking to a brick wall. Which may account for several of those broken feet now that I think of it. I can’t blame him however. He just wanted to belong, and was willing to go through great discomfort to avoid missing out on our childish adventures. It’s admirable really, even if at the time it was quite stressful trying to tell the enormous man child with diabetes that maybe he shouldn’t try to bike ten miles with his brother and I without eating anything because he would definitely pass out, and then us having to split up with Matt left tending to him and me desperately searching for a store or restaurant along our bike route to load up on sugary snacks to bring back because he absolutely did pass out on the side of the road. Or like when we all went to the Poconos for vacation and on the first day there, he bought a bottle of Jack Daniels Honey Liquor, which is basically liquid sugar, and insisted he could drink it because it wasn’t very sugary and then spent the entire rest of the trip practically crippled from gout.

That was our Charlie Beast. He was certainly a unique fellow. He definitely danced to the beat of his own drum, whether the tune was Guns N Roses or DMX. He was Impatient. He was Impulsive. He was strangely lucky at card games he didn’t even understand how to play. He was prone to Charlie-isms like calling 16 times in a row while refusing to leave a message as if it was a world ending emergency, just to ask if I wanted to hang out sometime. Not even for a definitive plan that needed immediate scheduling, just to verify that at some time in the future I would like to continue being his friend and do friendship activities together.

Yes Charlie. Yes, I would.

And you know what? Even with all his stubbornness, and impatience, and impulsivity, what should have or could have been annoying behavior ultimately was endearing. Because it was Chuck. He became the big brother I needed. He was a role model and an example to live up to. Because of who he was and what was important to him. Loving his Family. Loving his Friends. Having Fun. Wherever he went, laughter followed. There are certainly worse philosophies to live by.

I wish we got so much more time together, but what a gift to have known him for as long as I did. What a blessing to have had my life brightened by his light. The body that caused him so much pain may be gone, but the light he produced remains. He’s not gone, just going through some changes.

Fairwell Chuckleberry Finn. I’ll carry you with me always and I will do my best to teach the lessons I learned from you to everyone I can.

Really, what could be a better legacy than that?

I’m feeling the love Chaaaaaarlie.