Collin James Wilson
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Collin's obituary
A Life Well Lived (and Well Laughed)
Collin James Wilson did not believe in small living.
He believed in loud guitars and louder laughter, comic book heroes and redemption arcs, arguing a completely ridiculous hypothetical question like it was a matter of national security.
If you ever answered one of his “Would you rather…” questions lazily, you already know. He would lean in, eyebrows raised, and suddenly it was no longer a casual question. It was whether you would fight one horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses, and you had better have a strategy. He was fully committed, even to nonsense.
He was brilliant. The kind of smart that did not need announcing. He carried vaults of movie trivia in his head. Quotes, scenes, background details no one else caught. He connected dots the rest of us missed. He remembered everything. And somehow, for all of that intelligence, he remained humble and kind.
He loved movies. He loved comics. He loved music in every form. Punk rock, power ballads, songs that shook the walls and songs that hit you straight in the chest. Music was not background noise to him. It was oxygen.
But the truest version of Collin was found at home.
Mariah, Mia, and Tobie were the center of his universe. He did not just love them. He delighted in them. Their chaos, their humor, their individuality. He loved being the one they ran to. The one who made them laugh. The one who made everything feel steady. He was proud of them in a way that radiated. You could see it in his face every time he looked at them. Being their dad was not something he tried at. It was who he was.
The way he loved his wife, Talor, was something you felt the moment you were around them. He did not love halfway. He reached for her like she was home. He chose her every single day. He loved her bigger than she even knew was possible, and he made sure she never doubted that she was his. Completely in love. What they had was rare and he cherished it.
He was shaped by strong roots.
He carried his mom, Sandy’s strength in him. You could see it in the way he protected, in the way he endured, in the quiet loyalty that ran through everything he did.
With his brother, Colby, there was shared history, numerous inside jokes and built-in understanding. The kind of bond formed long before adulthood and carried forward without needing explanation.
His grandparents, Carol and Ted, were a part of the foundation beneath him. They were steady ground, memory, legacy, and the kind of love that stretches across generations. He respected where he came from and carried their influence whether he spoke of it often or not. Their story lived inside his.
His dad, Ron, was part of his life and part of the story that shaped his world. He loved his brothers, Kane and Kage, because they were his. Brotherhood, to Collin, was something you honored. It did not need to be loud to be real.
He loved his numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins, and he loved his family in love with the same wholehearted devotion. To Collin, family was never divided into categories. It was one circle, widened by grace. He honored the family who raised him and embraced the family he married into with equal warmth. He did not measure belonging by bloodlines. He measured it by presence, by loyalty, by the way people showed up for one another.
He could make anyone laugh, especially when they were not supposed to. A quiet comment, a perfectly timed look and suddenly the tension broke and the room could breathe.
He lit up every room he entered not because he demanded attention, but because warmth followed him.
In the last chapter of his life, there was a steadiness in him that hadn’t always been there.
He found his faith, and stepped into it fully. He chose baptism with clear eyes and a willing heart, began living differently, thinking differently and holding himself to something higher.
He was becoming who he believed he was meant to be.
When he walked into eternity, he was not met as a stranger, he was met as a son and he heard the words that matter most: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
Thirty four years feels unfairly short but, Collin did not live halfway.
He loved loudly, laughed fully, thought deeply, protected fiercely and showed up completely.
If you ever find yourself laughing in a moment that feels too heavy,
if a completely ridiculous hypothetical question crosses your mind, or
if you choose to love boldly and without holding back, that is him.
And what a gift he was.
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