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1938 - 2017
1938 - 2017
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1938
2017
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Carlie J Wilson
August 28, 2023
Jeff Wilson
April 22, 2017
Dad was such a consistently decent man that it would have been easy to miss that he was more than that; a human being of the highest caliber. I did not realize that Carlie G. Wilson, my father, was such a fine man, such an outstanding person until I witnessed him being such a great son.
Dad had hands the size of catcher's mitts, and fingers as big around as sausages. This was from decades of swinging a mallet in a metal fabrication plant. This was before he became a mechanic. All the while he was a master gardener, season after season raising plenty from nothing. I was in kindergarten before I ever tasted a processed vegetable, and that was in the school cafeteria. But I thought all dads were magical like that.
Dad was rich in the ways I could recognize, and our family was wealthy in that same way. Any unlocked car in the church parking lot or any neighbor expecting company was likely to receive a brown grocery sack full of green beans, or potatoes, or squash or some enormous quantity of tomatoes. I thought all dads were rich and all families were wealthy. I had heard of poor people, but I had to that point rarely met one.
We received a letter from the county one day that said we were poor, and that I didn't have to pay for my lunch at school. I remember that the letter upset my mother, and we threw it away because it was so obviously wrong. And it reinforced my suspicion that those kids who bought their lunch at school might be the poor kids I had heard about, and I felt even a little more sorry for them.
While all of this was going on, dad was at work. And when he came home from work, he worked. Every day. Every day, every year, year after year. Only on Sunday did he rest.
And I thought all fathers were like that.
I thought all fathers could repair cars, pull teeth, stitch wounds and conjure fishing worms from the ground on the hottest day of July.
One day, I found there was something my dad could not fix. That was my grandfather, Elvis Lee Wilson, dad's dad. Grandpa Wilson was dying, and dad was feeling that pain deeply. He trekked back and forth from Cincinnati, Ohio to Somerset, Kentucky. Sometimes, I traveled with him. Dad would lift grandpa like a child, clean him like a baby, and smuggle to him tobacco and hamburgers, like a man. But dad did not try to fix him. He comforted Grandpa. He cheered him. He loved him.
That's when I could first see something that I will see forever. Dad was what we are supposed to be. He was full of grace. To borrow the words of someone else, dad had the strength to fix the things that he could, and the grace to accept the things he could not, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Even if all other dads were also magical, hard-working and rich, my dad was a wonderful human being, and I knew all dads were not that.
After sacrificing for his entire life, I saw my father eventually surrender himself completely for the people he loved. They needed it, and he provided it. His well was deep.
Graceful is not a word so readily assigned to men. But my father, whose mother was Grace Garner Wilson, was that.
Michelle Wilson
April 22, 2017
I was blessed, for all too brief a time, with a pretty great dad who was a public servant, with feet of clay. Being a fatherless daughter for so long has made me all the more thankful for having Carlie as a father-in-law. Mr. Wilson was the epitome of what a good and godly man is. Carlie definitely had no feet of clay.
He was the truest, most loyal, kindest, most capable, stoic, steadfast, practical, and loving man-a shining example of true religious faith.
I have never felt more welcomed into a family or into a home than I did by Mr. Wilson. There was no question of his acceptance in the circle of one his warm bear hugs.
He knew everything about farming and weather. He'd throw his head back and let loose one of his deep laughs at my City Girl questions about country living. He'd answer even the most inane ones with a smile in his twinkling eyes, and a slight shake of his head; our conversation about canning sausage is one I'll never forget and one from which I'm not sure I've yet to recover.
He'd rub dirt in your wound and tell you it needed a poultice, not a doctor. He thought air-conditioning was for wussies, but he was known to crank it "all the way down to 78," with a wink, saying, "just for you, little girl."
Carlie could fix *anything*! He built the most beautiful things, collected all manner of trinkets, tools, and treasures, and shared them all with a genuine and generous heart.
Mr. Wilson told the very best stories. He had a fantastic sense of humor, sometimes quietly sarcastic, which endeared him to me all the more. Waiting for the zinger punchline of his stories was *always* worth it. Hearing Carlie's voice always made me feel safe and comforted. Hearing one of his stories always made me feel lucky to be part of the audience.
Carlie buried a son he loved dearly. He and I had many private conversations where we both remembered Danny fondly and with much love. Mr. Wilson never let the crushing loss of his firstborn child change who he was, as can often happen. He grieved quietly and elegantly, but never, ever forgot his sweet boy.
Mr. Wilson also raised another son who is my best friend and the best man with whom I could ever hope to spend my life. Stephen is all the good things I admired in his daddy and while I'm going to miss Carlie desperately,I'm comforted in the knowledge that he absolutely lives on in those whose lives he shaped- whether it be the tilt of their head as they watch television, their propensity to only cook with cast iron, their ability to MacGyver anything with twine, tape, and initiative, or in their deep capacity to love.
There is some poetry in the fact that Mr. Wilson's passing comes in the Spring, a time of rebirth and growth. We can all hopefully find some comfort in knowing that his homecoming has occurred in his favorite season of the year, and that his faith means he has been reborn and reunited with those he has loved and lost, and that the table was well-prepared for his arrival.
Carlie Wilson was a blessing to me, and I am so thankful to have had his fatherly influence these past 18 years. He was the very best man, and he will be so very missed.
James & Blondell Garner
March 24, 2017
To the Carlie Wilson family, our deepest sympathy are with you at this time of your great loss. We double dated with Carlie and Shirley in high school and that same fondness has remained all these years. Please know how much we care.
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Mitch Ross
March 24, 2017
Our deepest sympathies to Shirley, Jeff, Melissa, Stephen and their families. Carlie Wilson was one of the best Christian gentlemen I ever knew. He is largely responsible for my trusting in Christ as a 12 year old boy. Years later after seminary and serving other churches, when I came back to Grace as pastor, he was one of the best deacons I ever had. I find comfort, and hope the family will, in knowing he is with his Lord Jesus Christ that he loved and served. Carlie Wilson is one of the best and will be greatly missed.
Buddy and rose Mary Keesee
March 23, 2017
Dear carlie Wilson's family, we send our love to you, May God bless you, we loved carlie so much in milford, he was such a blessing to us, they were such a part of our lives and of the church. It won't be long until we see him again. Praise the lord
Roy Willcox
March 23, 2017
Our deepest condolences to Shirley, Jeff, Melissa and Stephen. Carlie and Shirley have been two of our dearest friends since 1973 in Cincinnati. Carlie was one of the kindest and most caring person we have ever known. We will miss him. May God's grace sustain and keep each of you.
Roy and Jo Ann Willcox, Pensacola, FL
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