In Loving Memory of Linton Charlie Rutledge

A Story of Grief, Legacy, and Love

Published: September 30, 2025

This past Monday, on September 29, 2025, we gathered as a family and community to lay to rest an exceptional man: my uncle, Linton Charlie Rutledge.

When you lose someone like Uncle Charlie, it doesn’t feel like just the loss of a person—it feels like the closing of a chapter in your soul. His presence was that strong, that grounding, and that full of love.

A Lifetime of Stability, Faith, and Love

Uncle Charlie was the definition of a faithful man. He had a loving wife—my Aunt Flora—who stood beside him with grace and strength. He had a home that welcomed you. He had faith, and he lived it deeply, not just in words, but in action. He was a faithful member of Trinity Baptist Church, where, from the time I was a child, I knew I’d see him on any lucky Sunday that I would attend with my Grandmother.

Some of my sweetest memories were sitting in the pews of Trinity, next to Uncle Charlie, Aunt Flora, and my grandmother—his sister—who served as an usher. That was family. That was safety. That was legacy. I was always treated with love, care, and respect by him, and that never changed.

A Leader by Example

There was a time in my life when I was a single father, raising my daughter Ayse, doing my best to make ends meet. Uncle Charlie’s granddaughter and my daughter attended the same school, and without hesitation, he would often pick up my daughter as well. It was never a burden to him—it was just what a man like Uncle Charlie did. It's what family is supposed to be.

He knew I was working hard, and he reminded me that he was proud of me. And I was proud to live up to the expectations he set—not out of fear, but out of respect. He always asked me if I was working, not in judgment, but in a spirit of accountability. He believed in effort. He believed in doing your part. He believed in family. And I felt seen in those moments—not just as a nephew, but as a man trying to build a better life.

A Legacy of Wisdom and Truth

Uncle Charlie was one of those people who made you feel like you were never gone too long. If you hadn’t talked in a while, the next time you connected, it was as if no time had passed. But don’t mistake that for softness—he was also the kind of man who would tell you what you needed to hear, not just what you wanted to. And most of the time, he was right.

There was no show or performance with him. He moved in truth. In strength. In conviction. His love wasn’t flashy—it was steady. He gave you what you needed, even if you didn’t recognize it right away.

A Story of Grief, But Also a Story of Love

Yes, I grieve for me and for my family's loss. But this is not just a story about grief—this is a story about what remains.

What remains is his example: as a husband, a father, a church member, a brother, an uncle, and a friend. What remains is the way he supported others without expecting applause. What remains is the power of family, the importance of faith, and the strength of doing what's right.

When I lost my mother, Mysti, the pain was deep. Another sad family loss. But part of what comforted me was knowing Uncle Charlie was still here—still carrying part of the foundation that helped shape who I am. Now that he’s gone, I feel the loss of that pillar—but I also feel the calling to continue what he taught me. I still have my grandmother Josephine, his sister, and now every time I look into her eyes, I will continue to see him and let that give me comfort and direction.

A Living Memorial

This blog post is more than just words. It’s a living memorial. It’s my way of honoring him, not just today, but for every day that follows. For everyone who has ever lost someone they loved, I hope this gives you permission to grieve, but also to honor. To speak their name. To remember the good times, the trips in the van to Riverside, the dominoes, the seat in church, the card on your birthday, and the moment you realized they believed in you. Those moments are sacred.

Let this be known:

Linton Charlie Rutledge was a man of character, of faith, of family, and of unwavering love.

He lives on—in our memories, in our values, and in the generations to come.