Funeral Homily for Bill Wessinger-The Rev Melanie Lemburg

The Very Rev Melanie Dickson Lemburg

Funeral Homily for Bill Wessinger

February 25, 2025

 

        The last time I visited with Bill when he was still alert, we were talking about his wishes for today and about his life.  He was kind of in and out of it, but then he looked straight at me and shared these words of wisdom: “Always speak up to everyone; speak down to no one; when you encounter death, respect it.  And don’t be afraid to reach out and discuss things with anyone.” 

        His words were such a gift to me that day, a small glimpse into his great soul as he knew he was facing his own death and entrance into God’s kingdom.  They showed what Bill was most passionate about—and that was caring for people.  He cared for people faithfully throughout his entire adult life.  As an orthopedic surgeon, he worked to bring healing to those who were injured.  As a hospital administrator, he brought care through administration, which is its own unique form of care, and he was instrumental in updating Memorial’s double confirmation policies and procedures to help reduce medical errors, and to keep patients and those who care for them safe.  As coroner, he gave special attention to the families of those who died, offering them care and closure to help begin their healing. 

        He had an amazing memory that allowed him to never forget a name and to remember facts about a wide-variety of interests, making him a Renaissance man.  He knew about art and music and he also made his own giant sprinkler (because he couldn’t find one to buy that met his exacting specifications) and he even dabbled in electrical wiring from time to time. 

        Bill was a devoted family man-a loving father, husband, and grandfather.  His son Will remembers how Bill would stop by their house near Jenkins after finishing work at the hospital and how he’d take his 2-month-old grandson in his arms, holding him against his chest until they both would fall asleep with Bill sitting up on the couch.  Will also shared about how when Bill knew it would be getting below freezing at night, he’d pull out his giant sprinkler that he made and run it all night to create icicles so his children Will and Lucy could experience a taste of winter from beyond the mild winters of Savannah. 

        Bill was brilliant and larger than life, and yet, he was still very human.  He loved to make people laugh and to play pranks on people, especially his co-workers.  He’d stuff socks down into the toes of their regular shoes when they were in surgery.  He’d park his car so close in the doctor’s parking lot at Memorial that they couldn’t get in their driver side door and would have to track him down to move his car.  He’d sign people up randomly for catalogues.  (So if you ever wondered why you were getting so many catalogues back in the 1990’s, it was probably because of Bill.) 

        Bill was always worried that someone was going to steal his car, and so he wouldn’t ever have more than a half a tank of gas in it at any time.  (His thinking was that if someone did steal it, they wouldn’t be able to get very far.)  But the result of this theft deterrent system is that Bill would frequently run out of gas.  Will remembers learning to push the car from behind with his dad from a very early age, when they had run out of gas, and how Lucy was the fortunate one because she was a little bit taller, so she got to steer the car as they pushed. He got his boat stuck in the drive-through at McDonald’s one time (and made Will go inside to explain the situation and to pick up their order).  And another time, he was driving down Montgomery Cross Road after work one day, when his backseat door flew open and all his medical files he was taking home to work on flew out into the road.  He had to pull over and scoop them up in the middle of traffic. 

        He had a deep and abiding love for black coffee and a disdain for travel mugs.  And there was one speedbump at Memorial that would jump up out of nowhere frequently to make him splash his coffee all over his lab coat.  So Bill kept 5 lab coats, and there were always at least two of them at the dry cleaner on any given day.

        He was a good faithful man, who made a difference in this world and especially in this community, where he touched so many lives.  And even though recent years have had their challenges for Bill, he never once complained.  He faced it all with his customary good humor and grace with Karen, his wife and faithful companion, by his side.

        Today, we gather to give thanks for this good and faithful man, and to mourn the loss of his larger-than-life presence among us.  We also gather today to remember the hope of our faith, the hope of Bill’s faith:  that death is not the end, but a change; that Jesus goes before us in and through death and prepares a place for us in God’s eternal kingdom; that through Jesus’s death and resurrection, God has shown, once and for all that God’s love is stronger than absolutely anything, even death.  So even as we mourn, we hold fast to the hope that one day, we will all be gathered together around God’s table in our heavenly dwelling place. 

In the meantime, we’ll remember the example that Bill set for us, in how to live out our faith by caring for others, and we’ll remember Bill’s words of wisdom: : “Always speak up to everyone; speak down to no one; when you encounter death, respect it.  And don’t be afraid to reach out and discuss things with anyone.”