Caroline Christine Bingham's Funeral

October 21, 2026

Caroline Christine Bingham's Funeral

Caroline's funeral was one of a kind. I'd never attended one where the mortuary didn't do all the work but that was our situation. Troy didn't want us to do a funeral down here in the valley and cancelled the plans we made. We felt that a funeral service is important for the family, and we proceeded with prep for one in Mesa.

Aunt Barbara helped the night before with set up, after with cleaning and just throughout this whole ordeal. She was an ear to hear my mother, and we're so thankful for their relationship.

We had the service in Mesa, and my ward provided a luncheon. It was opted for Caroline to be cremated, so we didn't have a casket. We had a family prayer and proceeded to the chapel where we sang and talked about Caroline. The music was incredible. Shauni and Crystal graced up with the most beautiful musical number and I will forever cherish because a musically sensitive family.

The luncheon was so lovely. We had food from so many women and we were spoiled with love. I will forever see those women in a higher light. The service and love they poured over us was so hallowed.

Below are the talks from Meredith and I. I will share my mom's and Berit's when they are sent.

VERITY

The Joy She Gave

When my sisters and I were deciding what each of us would talk about today, we divided up

Caroline’s life into a few different pieces.

Mom is talking about the girl we knew. Berit talked about the woman Caroline became.

Meredith talked about the sister we loved. And I was get to share some of the joy she gave.

I think that is probably the right topic for me, because when I think about Caroline, I don't

just think about the hard things or even the big things.

I think about the ordinary things.

The little things that, at the time, just felt like life. And now I realize those were some of the

greatest gifts she gave me. When the Bingham's moved to San Tan, we started having these

family dinners. And I didn't realize at the time what a gift those dinners would become.

Of course I knew Caroline. She was my sister. I had known her my whole life. But getting to

have her nearby, getting to spend ordinary time with her, gave me the chance to know her in a

different way. I got to know Caroline not just as my sister, but as a woman, as a friend, and as an

individual.

I got to see the things she loved, the things she was good at, the things that made her laugh, the

things she cared deeply about. I’m going to share a few of the things I learned from her.

Our sister Caroline was never in a hurry.

I don't think I ever saw her rush to leave our house after a family dinner.

She would be perfectly happy sitting out back getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, talking or being

silent, hanging out, or pruning my tomato plants.

She would just go with the flow. There was always time for one more conversation. One more

story, one more joke. I think there is something really profound about realizing that now.

I wish I had known. I wish I had known she was going to leave us so soon. I wish I had known

the last time I saw her awake was going to be the last time. I wish I had known there were

conversations we wouldn’t get to have.

Because I would have done more. I would have stayed longer, I would have asked more

questions, I would have sat in the backyard a little longer.

That's one of the strange gifts of grief. It forces us to see the value in things we didn't realize

were treasures while we lived them.

Those family dinners were precious. Her sitting in my backyard was precious. Her pruning my

tomato plants was precious. The fact that she never seemed to be in a hurry was precious. I just

didn't know it yet.

Caroline also taught me a lot of little things that I will carry with me.

She was an incredible canner. She could take something she had canned herself and somehow

turn it into an amazing meal. She taught me how to take leftovers and make something new out

of them. That did not come naturally to me. Caroline could look at a fridge full of random things

and see dinner. I could look at that same fridge and see nothing!

And now every time I pull something out of the freezer or try to figure out what to do with

leftovers, I will think of her. When I load up leftovers in gallon size ziploc bags, I’ll think of her!

Caroline was such a musician. She was also incredibly talented at the piano. When Caroline

would come over, I would find some new sheet music and ask her to play it—she would sit down

and play it perfectly. It seemed so normal because she made it look so easy.

But it wasn't normal. She was just that talented. I loved getting to see that part of her feel no

shame for making her play non stop at times.

Caroline was brave. Often a little too brave—she had something we called roof tag. I’m amazed I

was invited to this because I was so young at the time, but she told me one day that she was

going to invite me somewhere and I had to be cool about it. She had us climb onto the roof of

Carson Junior High School and we legitimately played tag in the middle of the night.

After tag, they jumped into the pool and swim after hours. I still can’t believe this happened. I

know we got in trouble, but what a memory to have!

That was Caroline. She was adventurous. She was willing to try things. She wasn't afraid of

much. When I was little, Caroline would let me stay in her room and listen to scary stories

program that played weekly on the radio. (Segue—now we all like true crime, thanks Caroline)

When the program was over, I wasn't ready to sleep because I'd be too scared to move

because naturally we listened with the lights off. I’m spooking myself just by thinking of it right

now.

So Caroline would find a station, and we would listen to 90s grunge music until I finally felt safe

enough to go to bed. She didn't necessarily make the scary thing go away. She just stayed with

me until I wasn't scared anymore.

I think that says a lot about Caroline. She had a way of making people feel like they weren't

alone.

She loved her people fiercely. Any one who knows Caroline knows when I say fiercely, I mean

fiercely.

If someone hurt one of her people, Caroline would defend first and understand later--sometimes

she might offend first and understand later, too. She could be brash. She could speak before

thinking. She could make mistakes. She had strong opinions and was never particularly shy

about sharing them--and underneath all of that was a person who cared deeply.

If you were one of Caroline's people, you knew it. You knew she loved you. You knew she

would show up for you. Watching her interact with all the kids (her own, and also the nieces and

nephews that are on the young end) knew it.

She loved the kids. She played with them. She spoiled them, she let them make messes and take

up space. She listened to them and made them feel important.

And I know they will remember that.

She wanted her children to grow up in a world where they didn't feel judged. She wanted them to

feel loved for exactly who they were. I certainly think that desire came from knowing what it felt

like to care deeply and to want the people you love to be okay.

Caroline was also one of the biggest supporters of my Botox business from the very beginning.

She was my model. She let me try new things on her first and always without hesitation. And

when I made mistakes, she laughed. Although, to be fair, after some of the Botox treatments, it

was sometimes hard to tell if she was laughing. So maybe I shouldn't say that. (lol) She was

always willing to support me, even when what I was doing was new or uncertain. She believed in

me.

Caroline loved the water. Never have I ever heard her deny swimming due to having clean hair,

being tired—nothing. She loved paddle boarding and was on a Facebook group dedicated to

people who didn’t want to paddleboard alone. People could post and others would join. She

loved this hobby so much.

She could make an ordinary afternoon feel like an adventure just by being willing to go.

These are the things that don't seem important until suddenly they are everything.

The family dinners. The backyard, the pool. The piano. The leftovers. The tomato plants. The

stories. The music.

Her voice on Marco Polo. I am so grateful for Marco Polo because we will get to hear Caroline's

voice for years.

There is something about hearing someone's actual voice that makes them feel close and I am

grateful I will have that.

I am also grateful that when Caroline was awake, I still got to conspire with her. I told her about

the Olive Garden dinner I was going to help smuggle into the hospital for her.

It wasn't a profound goodbye and it wasn't the most ideal or perfect last conversation--It was just

me talking to my sister about Olive Garden.

And honestly, it hurts but that's okay; I’ve learned the last thing doesn't have to be profound.

Love doesn't need a perfect goodbye. It’s all the ordinary things that happened before it.

Our conversations. Our themed family dinners. All the jokes and every single time we said, "I'll

see you later," never imagining that someday so soon there wouldn't be a later.

One of the hardest things about losing Caroline is that life doesn't stop.

We're still mothers. We're still wives. There are still lunches to pack. Dinners to make. Laundry

to fold. Questions to answer. Homework. Rides to and from school and all the endless activities.

Appointments. People who need us.

At times it has felt wrong to be doing ordinary things when something so enormous has

happened. I think Caroline would understand that, she would want us to keep living.

Not because we aren't grieving and not because she wasn't important, because she was. Loving

her doesn't mean we stop living. It means we carry her with us while we do. I have a lot of hope

and faith that this life is not the end. I don't know exactly what happens after this life. I don't

pretend to know every detail of what Caroline is experiencing now.

I believe in a Heavenly Father who loves His children. I believe that Jesus Christ overcame

death. I believe that families can be eternal. I have so much hope that this separation is not

forever. I have hope that I will see my sister again.

And until then, our job is to remember her by the way she lived. I don't want the last weeks of

Caroline's life to become the biggest thing I remember about her.

I want to remember her sitting at my piano. I want to remember her in my backyard. I want to

remember her pruning my tomato plants. I want to remember her cackle laugh. I want to

remember her swimming. I want to remember her on a paddleboard. I want to remember her

calm reaction after we floated the salt river for several hours and later found out the keys slipped

out of Thaddeus’s pocket—we were stranded and she was the cool and calm anchor.

I want to remember her making something amazing out of leftovers. I want to remember her

laughing at my Botox mistakes. I want to remember her voice. I want to remember her with the

kids. I want to remember the girl she was, the woman she became, the sister she was to us, and

the joy she gave.

I do wish Caroline could see us now. I think she would be embarrassed by us for how much

we're crying. She'd probably have something to say about all of this.

I also know she would be touched. I hope she could see how deeply she was loved. That is what I

want to take from all of this.

Joy isn't only found in the big moments. It’s sitting in the backyard with your sister; it's a song

played perfectly on the piano; it's a family dinner that lasts a little too long; it's a child being

spoiled by their aunt; it's swimming; it's a ridiculous and never ending adventure with a friend

drinking and hating kombucha

Sometimes it's a voice on the phone; it's someone sitting beside you while you're scared, not

removing the fear, but removing the loneliness.

Those things didn't feel extraordinary when they were happening, they were just our life. That

was the joy Caroline gave me and now I want to live a little differently because of her.

I want to stay a little longer. I want to make something out of what I have. I want to love my

people fiercely. I want to pay attention to the ordinary moments. I want to try not to be in such a

hurry to leave--there won’t always time for one more conversation, or one more story.

I am so grateful that I got to have Caroline as my sister. I will always be thankful she moved

back to Arizona so we could grow a relationship we didn’t have previously.

I am grateful for the girl we knew, for the woman she became, for the sister we loved, and most

of all, for the joy she gave.

I love you, Caroline, and I will carry that joy with me until I see you again.

MEREDITH

The Sister We Loved

One of the blessings of family is that we get to be a part of each other’s lives in a

way that shapes us.

Some of my earliest memories are of sharing a room with Caroline. I have always

loved that we got to share that part of our childhood, and I have often said that I think it

is one of the reasons we share so many similar personality traits. When you grow up

sharing a space with someone, you learn so much from them, sometimes without even

realizing it. You pick up little habits, ways of thinking, and pieces of their personality that

become part of your own.

Caroline was part of my life long before either of us could understand what that

would mean. She was my sister, but she was also someone who helped shape the

person I am today. So many of my memories, lessons, and experiences are woven

together with hers, and those are things that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

Today, I want to share some of those memories and experiences, and honor the

sister we loved.

When I think about Caroline growing up, one of the first things that comes to

mind is that she was a teacher in the very best way. She was outgoing and sassy,

stubborn and feisty, kind and creative. She had strong opinions, wasn’t afraid to share

them, and had a way of making things interesting wherever she went. She taught me so

much, sometimes through her advice and sometimes simply through the way she lived.

One memory that has always stayed with me is my first girls’ camp. I was being

bullied, and Caroline brought me into her cabin with the older girls. She made room for

me when I needed it most. I got to sit and watch the girls put together their skit and feel

included in a way I hadn’t been feeling with the girls my own age. And because Caroline

was Caroline, it wasn’t all serious. That night, we pulled a prank using stage makeup to

make it look like a twig had gotten into her leg. I can’t remember if we managed to scare

anyone or trick anyone with it, but it was so much fun. Plus I got to sleep in Caroline’s

cabin.

It’s a memory that makes me smile, but it also means something more to me. At

a time when I was feeling left out and hurt, my sister brought me in. She gave me a

place to belong. She made me feel safe, and she gave me a memory that I could look

back on with happiness instead of only remembering how hard that experience had

been.

I don’t know if she realized how much that meant to me, but I have never

forgotten it.

Caroline was also the person who helped me navigate some of those bigger life

decisions, particularly when it came to dating. She taught me to go on as many dates as

I could, and get those free dinners, and not to settle for someone who didn’t meet my

standards. Looking back, I appreciate that advice even more. She wanted me to know

my worth. She wanted me to experience life and give myself the chance to find the right

person.

And, as it turns out, Caroline had a pretty significant part in that story, too.

She is the reason I went to Virginia with her, where I ended up meeting Tyler. It’s

a little incredible to think about how many things in our lives can be traced back to one

decision, one trip, or one experience we might not have thought much about at the time.

Going to Virginia was one of those moments for me. It became part of the story of my

own family, and I wouldn’t have that part of my life without Caroline.

Caroline’s influence on my life didn’t stop once I met Tyler. She was part of some

of the most important moments that followed, including my wedding day. She did my

hair and makeup for my wedding, and she made my bouquet, the corsages, and the

boutonnieres. She used her creativity and talents to help make that day beautiful. Those

weren’t just tasks she checked off a list. THey were ways she showed up for me,

sharing what she was good at to make one of the biggest days of my life special.

When I look back on that day, I am grateful that she was part of it in such a

personal way. She wasn’t just there to watch me begin a new chapter. She helped

create the beauty of the day. She was good at that. Creating beauty in everything she

did, everywhere she went.

One of the remarkable things about Caroline is her many talents and how she

found ways to use them in the lives of the people she loved. Later, when Caroline moved to Utah while I was living in Rexburg, Idaho, I would go visit her and take Ridge and Delaney. Those visits gave me a chance to spend time with my sister, but they also gave my children memories with their aunt that I will always treasure.

In her Utah house, underneath the basement staircase, there was a little

hideaway that Ridge and Delaney liked to play in. It was fun, but a pretty boring little

space to look at. However, the next time we visited, Caroline had transformed it into a

magical space by painting a mural and adding special toys. That was Caroline. She

could look at an ordinary, forgotten little space and imagine what it could become. Then

she would put in the time and effort to make that imagination come to life. She didn’t just

let Ridge and Delaney come over to visit. She created a wonderful little world for them

to enjoy.

And, of course, she had a few lessons to teach them, too. Caroline helped teach

Ridge and Delaney that vegetables were a whole lot more enjoyable when

accompanied by a hefty serving of ranch dressing. She also got them to like pickles!

She was so good at getting kids, but especially mine, to try something new.

Those might seem like small, frivolous things, but I love that I have those

memories. Even now, the thought of my kids eating their veggies with ranch makes me

smile because I can connect it back to their aunt.

I love that she helped create those little traditions and preferences that became

part of their childhood. Those are the kinds of memories that stay with a family. THey

show up at dinner tables and in conversations, in little habits and funny stories that get

told again and again.

And I think that is how Caroline gave so much of herself to the people around

her. Sometimes it was through something big, like helping with my wedding. Sometimes

it was through something creative, like transforming a space beneath a staircase into a

magical place. And sometimes it was simply introducing children to the wonders of

ranch dressing and pickles!

She made things special in her own way.

When I think about all the different things Caroline was, the list is long. She was

a teacher, a friend, a mother, a wife, an artist, and a musician, to name a few. And when

it comes to music, I have always thought, and still think, that she was the best pianist

and sight reader I have ever known.

She had talents and abilities that amazed me. She could create beauty with her

hands, bring music to life, and make things feel special for the people around her. She

had her own personality, her own opinions, and her own way of doing things. She was

wonderfully, unmistakably Caroline.

She filled so many roles in her life, and each one mattered. She touched people

in different ways, and each person here has their own memories of who she was to

them.

But of all the things Caroline was, the one that meant the most to me was that

she was my sister.

Before she was the person who helped me with my wedding, she was the girl

who shared a room with me. Before she was the aunt who created a little magic with a

paint brush, she was the big sister who made room for me in her cabin when I needed

somewhere to belong. Before I understood how much one trip to Virginia would change

my life, she was the sister who invited me along.

All of those other things are part of her story, but being her sister is part of mine.

I think that is one of the hardest things about losing someone who has been part

of your life for so long. You don’t just miss the person you got to be when you were with

them. You miss the familiar parts of your relationship, the ordinary moments, and the

comfort of knowing they are there.

I will miss having more opportunities to learn from Caroline. I will miss being able

to share new experiences with her and watching her create things I never could have

imagined. I will miss the possibility of more visits, more conversations, and more

memories that we haven’t even had the chance to make yet. But I am grateful for the

memories we do have. I am grateful for the room we shared, the lessons she taught me,

the mischief we got into, the advice she gave me, the beauty she created for my

wedding and the special memories she made with my children.

I am grateful that she helped shape the person I am today. I am grateful that she

was part of the story of how I met Tyler and built my family. And I am grateful that my

children got to know her, to experience her creativity, and to carry their own memories of

their aunt.

My faith reminds me that death is not the end, and I find comfort in the hope that

our relationships with the people we love are not limited to this life. Hope doesn’t make

missing her any easier today. But I am grateful for my testimony of Jesus Christ and for

the promise of eternal families.

Caroline helped shape the person I am, and that is something death cannot take

away. I will continue to carry pieces of her with me. I hope I can pass some of those

pieces on to my children, too: her creativity, her willingness to make room for others, her

determination, her sense of humor, and her ability to make ordinary things extraordinary.

Caroline, thank you for being my sister. Thank you for teaching me, for looking

out for me, for making me laugh and being silly with me, and for being part of so many

of the moments that made me who I am.

I wish we had more time. But I will always be grateful for the time we had.

I love you, Caroline, and I will always be grateful that I got to be your sister.

The floral arrangements for Caroline's funeral were made by my neighbor and friend, Dinah Karrys. She is a true artist with the most generous heart.

Meredith and Mom took charge of the programs and came up with these beauties.

Someone in my relief society said they loved this back page so much, she was keeping it for her future funeral. Job well done, Mom!

Family gathering

Caroline painted this picture long before the days of AI. She was an artist.

Caroline in her proudly designed baptism dress, featuring her beloved initial.

Bishop

Me, I saw Jake sneak this.

Meredith explaining to Caroline (fully unconscious) what her vessels were doing, and why they had her on certain meds.

This is the continuous dialysis machine. I know it has a name, but I cannot remember it.

One of many parking pictures I took to remember where I was at.

My mom holding Caroline's hand.

Sisters. I didn't want us to take a picture, but I knew someday I'd be thankful, and I'm already thankful. It's so wild to me that we are smiling, but we truly were laughing and having sweet memories and stories the night she was taken off life support. We joked about families, talked about plans, and enjoyed each other's company. We have many family prayers. It was somber and sacred. Berit is on the phone there.