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Michael Garrett "Gary" Wilkey  by Nanadae
Loving husband of the late C__ and V__, adored father of W__ who is deeply affected by the loss of a most cherished grandfather, great-grandfather and devoted brother.  He is also survived by many loving nephews and nieces.  Gary was born on February 14 and would have been 76 on his next birthday.  He was a long time resident of S__ and was a proud union member of C__ Local 148.  At the age of 18 and like many young people from the farms, Gary moved to the city to find his dreams.  It was through his love of gardening that he met C__.  He filled her life with roses and dahlias.  His garden seemed to always be in bloom.  Gary was loved by his wife of 30 years, V__, who passed away two years ago.  He delighted in his family and friends and was famous for his generosity and kind spirit.  A strong believer in community service, he served as board member of A__ for 12 years, raising money for local charities.  He never "judged a book by its cover."  A private family service was held on Thursday and burial was at B__.  Donations to Alzheimer's Aid Society Research is requested in lieu of flowers in memory of Gary Wilkey.

I stared at the obituary as a sculptor observes a block of marble.  His face, just below the surface, looked back at me in accusation. 

"Can you make me whole again?" his disembodied voice echoed in my mind.  "Are you the right man for the job?" 

I wondered if I had the skill; the delicate touch to bring him back to life.  I put my pen to the page and scratched out words, empty of emotion.  Each sentence dug deeper, yet I was no nearer to finding what I yearned for.  My tools were too dull for the task.  Rereading the brief exposition, I tried again.  This time, I asked for his guidance. 

“What are the important details I should include?  Where are the traps and pitfalls I should avoid?"

He gently grasped my hand as a father would.  I wrote in somnambulism and watched his life unfold.  I trusted his tutelage and gave myself over to him.  I felt the sweat on my brow slide down my temples as my head fell back.  My eyes were closed and my hand slid across the paper.  My lips parted and a sigh escaped in relief.  I breathed deeply as his presence intensified.  We wrote in what should have been silence, but I could hear the past replaying itself on an old phonograph.  When I finally looked down, I saw handwriting unlike my own.

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  'Michael Garrett "Gary" Wilkey' statistics: (click to read)
Date created: Dec. 5, 2007
Date published: Dec. 5, 2007
Comments: 0
Word Count: 733
Times Read: 870
Story Length: 1