10/03/2026
Edited 10/4/26: Sometimes we run across something that we just feel in our hearts wasn’t meant to be donated…. If you recognize me (the boy in the photo who has now been identified) & the man in uniform who has yet to be identified), we’ll be here at N2Y waiting!!
‘Anne’ wrote in a comment under the boys photo the following and it only fitting that we share it so ‘Michael’ will never be forgotten!
Anne: This writing is under Michael’s obituary on the Morrison Funeral website - perhaps Kay would want the picture
Kay: A Tribute to Michael
I met Michael in 1962, when I was dating my husband, Gary. The two of them would sit together and talk about all the things they did when they were young. Their stories were full of mischief, loyalty, and the kind of friendship that forms early and never really loosens its grip.
Gary lived with his mother and his grandparents, Memaw and PePaw Zimmer, while his father served in the Sea Bees during wartime. Through all of that, Michael was a constant presence in his life — steady, familiar, and true.
Michael himself grew up in a home shaped by a domineering mother and a quiet father. He was never told he was loved, not once as a child. Gary and his siblings were raised the same way, without those simple words that mean so much. It’s a hard thing to grow up without hearing them, and yet Michael carried himself with a gentleness that many people who were loved never manage to find.
There was a girl he once hoped to marry, someone he cared for deeply. But his mother, Grace, would not allow it. Whatever she did or said, it was enough to end that young love, and Michael and the girl never saw each other again. It was one of the quiet heartbreaks he carried.
Grace later insisted that Michael quit his teaching job so he could take care of her and his father as they both slipped into dementia. And he did. He stepped into that role without complaint, because he was a good son — loyal, patient, and devoted, even when the burden was heavy.
That same sense of responsibility extended far beyond his own family. Michael helped many elderly people in the community, driving them to doctor appointments, taking them to the grocery store, and doing the small, necessary things that allow people to keep their dignity. He never made a show of it. He simply helped because someone needed help.
As the years went on, Gary and I began texting Michael once a day, a small ritual that kept us connected. And when Gary passed away, Michael stepped in with a quiet steadiness that meant more than he ever knew. He checked on me two or three times a day, making sure I wasn’t alone in my grief. He told me stories about Sunday Creek, about putting coins on the railroad tracks to mash them flat — little memories that brought back the sound of Gary’s laughter and the world they grew up in together.
Michael lived a life shaped by duty, loyalty, and a kind of quiet love that didn’t need to be spoken to be real. He gave more than he ever received, and he did it without bitterness. He was a gentle soul in a world that wasn’t always gentle to him.
And those of us who knew him — we carry his stories, his steadiness, and his quiet kindness with us. That is his legacy.
I would write in my text every day “ I love you “. I wanted him to experience someone telling him that.
Michael would call me a couple times a month, he would say I’m having a bad day, I just need to talk. In closing I would say “I love you “. He would say I just can’t say that, I told him he doesn’t have to say anything just know it.
For Michael’s birthday each year, I would send him a box with homemade bread, many types of cookies and cupcakes. Oh my gosh, he would rave about it for weeks.
I am having a difficult time with losing Michael. He was always there for me. I will miss him tremendously.
I love you , Michael! Hug Gary for me, and thank you for the wonderful memories.
Closing Thoughts
Michael’s presence was a quiet strength in all our lives. Though he rarely sought the spotlight, his impact was profound and lasting. The love he gave, often unspoken, was felt deeply by those fortunate enough to know him.
In remembering Michael, we honor a life lived with integrity, kindness, and unwavering loyalty. His story reminds us that sometimes the greatest love is shown not in grand gestures, but in the steady, everyday acts of care and devotion.
May his memory continue to inspire us to be gentle, patient, and loving in our own lives.
Thank you, Michael, for everything. You will be missed, but never forgotten.
With love and gratitude, Kay ---
