Eric Allen Edwards

Eric Allen Edwards died Sunday, March 14, 2021, at home in Asheville, NC, surrounded by family and friends, as he had wished. Eric had just celebrated his 45th birthday. 

Eric was born February 10, 1976 to Brenda Webster Hathaway and Allen G. Edwards in Covington, Kentucky and loved his Kentucky roots.  He earned a Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Kentucky, was an avid fan of Kentucky basketball and the Cincinnati Bengals, and loved the music and poetry of John Prine and Wendell Berry.

Eric felt at home outdoors and in the woods.  He owned Edward’s Landscaping, and his keen eye for the nuances of plants, trees, and space will continue to be enjoyed by friends and family for years to come. He felt most at peace and had the greatest enjoyment of life when on the water - boating, kayaking, and fishing.  He loved his West Asheville community, which surrounded him and his family with love, walks, bike rides, and chocolate chip muffins.  Deep friendships, game nights, watching football and basketball, and eating food from local restaurants filled his days for many years.  

Above all, his children, Hayden and Iris, were the loves of Eric’s life. Together with his wife Ana he shared with them his love of nature; adventures in the lakes, woods, and rivers of Western North Carolina; road trips to the beaches of South Carolina and the Gulf Coast; and summer adventures on the lakes of Wisconsin.  

Eric is survived by his parents, Allen Edwards of Asheville, and Brenda Hathaway of Delhi, New York; by his wife Ana Sparkman, of Asheville, to whom he was married fourteen years; children Hayden Edwards (13) and Iris Edwards (10)  of Asheville; and niece Marissa Fellows of Alabama.

A small, private service will be held to honor Eric on Saturday, March 27, 2021.  A larger community memorial will be scheduled later this spring.

We give thanks to our family, friends and Asheville community for their kindness, support, and so much love over the years.

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry

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