CARLTON FIGG Online Tribute and Memorial Website

CARLTON FIGG

65 years old
Male
Born Jan 12, 1943
Died Nov 22, 2008
LUCKNOW, India

A tribute to Carlton Eugene Figg, a loving husband, father,brother,grandfather and friend. Please feel free to write you thoughts and any memories of him so that we can all remember him with fondness.

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Dream the Impossible Dream.

To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go

To right the unrightable wrong
To love pure and chaste from afar
To try when your arms are too weary
To reach the unreachable star

This is my quest
To follow that star
No matter how hopeless
No matter how far

To fight for the right
Without question or pause
To be willing to march into Hell
For a heavenly cause

And I know if I'll only be true
To this glorious quest
That my heart will lie peaceful and calm
When I'm laid to my rest

And the world will be better for this
That one man, scorned and covered with scars
Still strove with his last ounce of courage
To reach the unreachable star

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Memories

My memory

zul Jul 26, 2010

I never got much chance to know Uncle Carl very well..but i do remember very clearly that every time i would go to visit aunt Audrey and uncle Carl at their Indira nagar house, i was welcomed with a very bright smile by uncle Carl and he would tell aunt Audrey to make coffee and bring some cookies..now every time he would tell aunt Audrey to bring cookies, we would only get coffee, when this happened many a times, i asked aunt Audrey to please at least let me eat those cookies once, which uncle Carl keeps talking about, well it seems they were not brought out because he actually wanted to eat them and since he had diabetes he was not allowed to eat it, he would ask me to remind aunt Audrey to bring it, and we would all have a hearty laugh.....and he would say wait till Christmas, she will definitely bring it out than......i wish i had met him earlier....

How I remember grandad

Sean Hutchings Feb 09, 2010

Granded was a fine old man. He hated to fly but loved to have visitors. He never talked to me much, but he loved to be in his night suit and he loved his arm chair. I loved to visit him and I loved his dog Flash. I remember his big glasses and his green eyes. If he was alive I would love to spend some more time with him. But sadly that will never happen.
I miss him.

12th January

Brenda Jan 23, 2010

Dad's birthday has just come and gone. I fumbled with my phone and toyed with his number which I still have listed as "Dad". I rang it nonetheless. When he died I wanted to put the phone in his coffin so I could still call him, throwing reason to the wind as is wont to happen when grief takes a strong grip of you. It would discharge in no time so what was the point; but I was not thinking; just gripping at straws to stay in touch with daddy. Every year, I'd call him to say "happy birthday". And that makes me feel so guilty now. Why did I not ever fly down to be with him? I was always so busy! If only I could turn back the clock. But then I did not know the end was coming so soon. Did anyone?

Anyways, the point of this post was something else. I just read about a device called the Left Ventricular Assist Device (LVAD). You could google it and find out more. The article was about a boy whose heart failed and he was brought back with this device. It brough tears to my eyes and I could not stop thinking of the possibilities. If only we had access to this then. I have no doubt the LVAD could have saved dad's life. I remember talking to him about surgery quite a few times on the phone, but his answer was always a stubborn "I'm not going under the knife" and "what's the point, the survival rate of heart transplants is ver low"; wasting valuable time when he was healthy and strong enough to withstand surgery. But in the months before he died he seemed to have a change of heart; he was more receptive to the idea. And ith the LVAD, a transplant is not nescessay! You can stay on the LVAD forever.

I was going down in Dec 2008 with all intentions of exploring all possible means of sorting him out. If surgery it had to be, I'd pull all stops to make it happen. I wanted to know so much more about his condition; I'd read up so much on the internet and believed I could make a difference. I was dreaming of playing God. Big mistake. He soon put me in my place. Dad was gone in a flash and I was left numbed with shock and all alone in a hotel in far-away Dhaka. I was there, ironically, for the inauguration of a hospital ship sponsored by my company, that boasted facilities for heart surgery. The irony made me so angry, I ripped the sheets off the bed. Was this some kind of joke? Why could he not wait a while. Trust him to do something like this. I was mad at dad, I was mad at God, I was mad at my job for taking me so far away and I was mad with myself for not going home sooner. My only thought was to get the hell out of there and to Lko as soon as I could; this our country manager arranged for me within half an hour. Ungrateful me forgot to even thank him for that feat, but I was too grief-striken to think of niceties like that, and I'm sure he understood. Dad was dead and lying in a mortuary; I kept putting the picture out of my mind just to stay sane. We were going home for Christmas were we not? Christmas will NEVER be the same again. Memories of Christmases past come flooding back - the red, white and blue streamers, the pains dad would take to get them just right and the instructions meeted out to mum to hang them just the way he wanted. It was always red, white and blue! I hated them! Why can't we have another colour? He'd just say "Nah..." I like red, white and blue! Simple as that. The make-shift Christmas trees, the gifts, the stories about Santa and how he'd give us a go if we were not good. Now I realise just how much effort it all took, It's my turn now to recreate those memories for my kids so they'll have good memories when they grow up. And it's not easy...I could not bear to listen to carols or Christmas songs last year. I pray that that will change for the sake of my family. Time, they say, helps you come to terms with loss, and I'm waiting...

Happy Birthday dad! I'll always miss you...

Good Times

Dollar Nov 15, 2009

I remember when we were young and Carl was courting Audrey, he had the misfortune of coming over when only the four little (the four young ones) were at home (Manavar’s house) Just before he called we were singing to keep ourselves happy and out of mischief. In this happy mood we got after him to sing for us, even though he said he couldn’t sing at all. We pestered him into doing so and he began singing ‘Mother of mine’. We couldn’t believe our ears, we looked at each other and began giggling. We just couldn’t control ourselves. Carl stopped singing and said, “See, I told you I couldn’t sing.’ With tears streaming down our faces, we kept urging him to complete the song, and being a sport, he did. But this is not all we will remember him for.
Carl might not have had a singing voice, but he could keep you in splits for hours. He had a unique talent – he could make a pen speak volumes like no other. People loved to read his articles and will always remember JAYWALKER, the name under which he wrote.