Warning: Unabashedly sentimental prose ahead.
RIP Gene Wilder
To a Man...
...unlike any other. Sent to carve layers of mirth, depth and soul that were so stratospherically unique that even our grief at his passing defies description.
A pregnant friend - due in a matter of weeks - is carrying a boy named Wilder. They chose the name because of Gene. The uncanny timing of this, we're pretty sure, can't be lost on the angels who espy and maybe even negotiate such comings and goings.
Right now, all together, we want to holler out the loudest, heartfelt thanks to Mr. Wilder for so much but mostly for inhabiting our world for approximately 30,000 days in so a thousand unforgettable places, ways and moments.
Sir; the skies were bluer, the ocean warmer and the pupils of our eyeballs were bigger just because of you.
You contained more poetry in your silence than all the bards alive with megaphones
You boldly went where no one ever went before and nobody will be able to follow your zany path in or out of the woods.
What magic you brought.
What WILDNESS.
What truth, what dare, what audacity, what tremulous timing, rapturous grace and, Lord knows, what FUNNY.
Our Frankenstein is gone.
Our Wonka slipped away.
All right, all right even the fire in our saddles is smoldering...
But our memories.
And if you look over your shoulder, just now, maybe you'll see a bit of the shimmer of your wake: Your silver cord was that visible to all of us.
These are real tears, but they're the clear, sparkling kind and we're smiling through them. They're traversing the planet. In all languages. All for you. Not just sadness at your passing, but joy that we got to know you at all. And you're worth every one of them.
We'll see you again. In our purest imagination.
To a Man...
...unlike any other. Sent to carve layers of mirth, depth and soul that were so stratospherically unique that even our grief at his passing defies description.
A pregnant friend - due in a matter of weeks - is carrying a boy named Wilder. They chose the name because of Gene. The uncanny timing of this, we're pretty sure, can't be lost on the angels who espy and maybe even negotiate such comings and goings.
Right now, all together, we want to holler out the loudest, heartfelt thanks to Mr. Wilder for so much but mostly for inhabiting our world for approximately 30,000 days in so a thousand unforgettable places, ways and moments.
Sir; the skies were bluer, the ocean warmer and the pupils of our eyeballs were bigger just because of you.
You contained more poetry in your silence than all the bards alive with megaphones
You boldly went where no one ever went before and nobody will be able to follow your zany path in or out of the woods.
What magic you brought.
What WILDNESS.
What truth, what dare, what audacity, what tremulous timing, rapturous grace and, Lord knows, what FUNNY.
Our Frankenstein is gone.
Our Wonka slipped away.
All right, all right even the fire in our saddles is smoldering...
But our memories.
And if you look over your shoulder, just now, maybe you'll see a bit of the shimmer of your wake: Your silver cord was that visible to all of us.
These are real tears, but they're the clear, sparkling kind and we're smiling through them. They're traversing the planet. In all languages. All for you. Not just sadness at your passing, but joy that we got to know you at all. And you're worth every one of them.
We'll see you again. In our purest imagination.
posted by Dustin at
8:01 PM 
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