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A tribute to husband and father – grand and great: Charles William Witchey Jr., known throughout his life as Chuck, and as Charley in boyhood, passed away peacefully on Feb. 1, 2026, at Sisters of Providence Centralia Hospital in Centralia, Washington, with his beloved wife, Loretta, by his side. He was 88 years old.
Born on Aug. 13, 1937, in Centralia, Washington, Chuck spent his life rooted in Washington state. He graduated from Centralia High School in 1956 and later married Elsie Loretta VanAuken, known to all as Loretta, in Centralia on June 17, 1961. Together, they built a life and a home in Rochester, Washington, where they raised their family and put down deep, enduring roots.
Chuck was a man of deep thought and great intelligence who, in his later years, came to cherish quiet — in the spaces between visits from his eight lively, spirited children, whose arrivals brought boisterous conversation, hugs, kisses, grandchildren and a kind of beautiful chaos they believed helped extend his days.
When Chuck spoke, people leaned in — his words were shared not in a way that always sought authority, but in a way that connected ideas and observations of the world around him and allowed meaning to settle clearly and land with wisdom. He was truly a gifted speaker, especially within his congregations in Centralia and later in Rochester, Washington. As one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Chuck was known for his steadfast faith, deep love and study of scripture, and his thoughtful words that offered guidance and comfort to many over the years. Baptized in Port Angeles, Washington, on April 12, 1958, his service to Jehovah God was lifelong and unwavering.
At home, Chuck was a man of many talents and quiet mastery, but it was as a husband that his steadiness shone most clearly. He and Loretta shared a life of true partnership — complementary, loyal and deeply affectionate. They moved through the world side by side, attuned to one another in ways that needed little explanation or words.
Across their 64 years of marriage, it was obvious that they genuinely enjoyed being close to one another — content in shared silence, gentle conversation and the comfort of togetherness. Their bond was constant and inseparable, marked not by grand gestures, but by devotion practiced daily and a love that never wavered.
Chuck was endlessly curious — never guessing, always reading and studying. His home was filled with books, magazines, encyclopedias and theocratic publications that reflected both his love of learning and his desire to surround his children with knowledge and curiosity about the world. Music was another quiet joy. Many evenings found him listening, tapping his toes or whistling along to music he collected on vinyl, tape and CDs across the decades. He had a dry, understated humor with a delightful amount of sarcasm within it, and the family firmly believes he was the original inspiration behind the classic “got your nose” dad joke.
Cooking was one of the ways Chuck expressed love most fully. The children relish memories of Saturday mornings with scratch-made pancakes or waffles, generous pans of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and sausage or ham. Family dinners were anchored by big pots of comfort food; his homemade cornbread from the corn he grew himself felt like a celebration, as did recipes he studied and improved with his own “secret ingredients.” He delighted in trying new things — even studying coffee deeply enough to roast his own beans — creating small, shared rituals for mornings with Loretta. Through curiosity, humor, music and nourishment, Chuck showed his family how love could be shown through the mundane things that were steady, thoughtful and joyfully lived.
In July 2009, Chuck suffered a catastrophic stroke that changed the shape of daily life, but never the essence of who he was. Though his speech was reduced to a handful of words, his presence, humor and connection remained unmistakable. What followed was not a diminishment, but a long season of strength — quiet, enduring and shared.
Loretta became his devoted caregiver and nurse, tending to him with extraordinary loyalty and love for the next 15 years. She never considered care in a facility for Chuck, saying simply that he was her “person” — her best friend — and she could not imagine him anywhere but by her side. Their bond only deepened, carried through quiet communication, shared humor, constant care and an unbreakable devotion that asked for nothing in return.
Even in his final days, Loretta slept beside him in the hospital, ensuring he was never without her presence. Together, they showed what it means to love with steadfastness, dignity and grace — meeting each day not as patient and caregiver, but as partners who never let go of one another.
As a father and grandfather, Chuck showed up with strength and playfulness. Family gatherings were often filled with laughter sparked by his quick wit, brilliant quips and well-timed jokes. His grandchildren knew him as a place of comfort and joy — piling into his lap when small to be tickled, lovingly teased and snuggled, held by a man whose affection was steady.
He showed love through presence: through documenting his family and special moments via thousands of pictures over the years; through big hugs, goodbye kisses and the simple act of being there — standing close, offering comfort and remaining present even when words were difficult. He was deeply proud of his children and grandchildren — their education, their work, their homes, their adventures, their courage, their creativity and the fierce love with which they raised their own families.
Through the way he lived and loved, Chuck left his family with quiet teachings that needed no explanation: endurance, loyalty, the strength of family and the capacity to hold hurt while still loving and healing. These lessons were not spoken aloud; they were passed on through the way he showed up, again and again.
Chuck’s legacy lives not only in the family he built, but in the way others watched him live and overcome — with determination, curiosity, humor and creativity. He showed that love could be quiet and still be powerful, that great strength could be attained and held firmly, and that presence mattered more than words. What he offered his family was not instruction, but example — a way of moving through the world rooted in loyalty, dignity and devotion. These are the gifts that remain, carried forward by those who loved him and learned from the life he lived.
Chuck was not a great man by the world’s usual measures of greatness — not for wealth accumulated, inventions made or recognition earned. He was great in the quieter, yet profound way. A boy shaped by humble beginnings and profound loss grew into a man who built a home, raised children and showed up — imperfectly, honestly and with resolve. He made mistakes. He faced seasons of challenges. And through it all, he never stopped learning and never stopped growing.
He understood the value of life not as something to conquer, but something to tend — with laughter, with joy and with a deep respect for the moments that truly matter.
He is survived by his beloved wife, Elsie “Loretta” Witchey; his children, Anita L. Gleason/Clemons, Teresa M. Anthney, Suzanne R. Curtis, Charles K. Witchey, Kathryn A. Santana, Jeremy W. Witchey, Denise R. Witchey and Justine L. Jarman; 20 grandchildren; nine great-grandchildren; and his youngest sister, Ms. Jenny Wagner.
A memorial service to honor Chuck’s life will be held at 1 p.m. Feb. 21, 2026, at the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses, 10228 U.S. 12, Rochester, Washington 98579.
