William Worsham


William E. Worsham, 73, of Waco, passed away Friday, July 4, 2014.

Cremation services entrusted to Lake Shore Funeral Home.

This is a service notification wherein an obituary may not be available or arrangements may be pending. It serves to provide information about visitation, funeral, interment or status of a loved one, relative, or friend currently being cared for by Lake Shore Funeral Home.

Print Obituary & Condolences Print Obituary & Condolences

Condolence Messages

  1. Laura (Worsham) Marshall

    My condolences and love to my stepmother, Marilyn Worsham, to my father’s brother (Robert) and sister (Joan), and to my own brother (Bill) and sister (Mary). I will remember Dad for the love he had for us, and his strength and bravery through a long and serious illness. There are many good memories I will keep in my heart and reflect on in the years to come. Right now, though, I just miss my Dad, and even though I spoke with him in the evening on July 3, I wish I had more time with him. Words really are insufficient here…

    My love to you all, Laura

  2. Carol Hessler

    We were so sorry to hear about Bill’s passing after his long battle with his illness. He was clever, smart and always made us laugh whenever we saw him, and we will keep those memories and smiles. We will keep you in our prayers and thoughts at this time.

  3. William E. Worsham Jr

    A small part of my memories, a tiny fraction of the flavor of his life:

    My father had a quick temper, and when he became upset about something, it lasted a long time. When I was young, my parents divorced and my father became the coach of my football, basketball and baseball teams. During practice one day, all the kids on the team were in the field and each one had a chance to bat. So instead of having a kid behind the plate, my father played catcher, only the masks for children are too small. So he just sat behind with a glove, wearing his glasses so he could see. Inevitably, someone hit a foul tip and it glanced off my dad’s right eye—the glasses shattered on that side and blood came pouring out. In those days, we didn’t keep ice near at hand and the closest place to get any ice was a pizza parlor called Harry’s. My father didn’t get mad about the crack on the face, or the blood, he just went straight to Harry’s. When he arrived at Harry’s, he had no cash and Harry told him that he would need to pay 25 cents for a cup of ice—policy at Harry’s—so my father had to go somewhere else to get the ice for his black eye.

    We never went to Harry’s again.
    Going to Harry’s was not even suggested or discussed.
    Going to the car wash next to Harry’s—a business also owned by Harry—never happened again.

    So the temper came quick and stayed a long time. Yet it was righteous, concerned about doing the right thing. If someone is hurt and needs ice, give them a cup of ice! That is how he thought, all the way through his life.

    Doing the right thing took precedent over profit, especially if it meant profiting at the expense of a person in need. My mother once told me that the best Christmas she ever had with my Father took place before I was born. They had some friends, another young couple with kids, who didn’t have very much. So Dad took her out and they did Christmas shopping for that whole family. It felt like the right thing to do, so he did it, and that was that. Yet he never trumpeted that story to me. Someone else had to tell me. There are many times he did things like that, but they were only known to himself and whoever was with him. He did them because he would not have felt right if he hadn’t. That is how he was, with his quick temper still intact!

    My father and I were driving down the road, minding our own business. Three kids in a car drove past us, screaming, yelling and sticking up their middle fingers. Just being obnoxious. My father’s sense of righteous anger took over, he gave them a canary salute and yelled, “That one’s for your mother!” I thought the encounter went very well and doubled over laughing in the passenger seat.

    My father loved animals his entire life, and he passed that down to me. He poured his heart into every animal he ever took in. I don’t believe he ever bought a dog or cat—he didn’t need to—there were too many others he could help; he almost always brought home strays. I think that same sense of right or wrong hit him especially hard when it came to animals. At the center of his heart were two things: animals and family.

    The family sometimes worked out and sometimes it didn’t. That is an experience any father, mother, brother, sister, son or daughter has had, but when things went well, they really came out right. I can remember my first memory as a four-year-old looking over his model railroad that he brought out at Christmas, and I think, despite any other petty thing someone might complain about, my family did Christmas just right.

    The whole season bloomed out in a cavalcade of lights and cacophony of music. To me, it seemed as close to perfect as a Christmas could get. He was at his very happiest when he was giving, and I cannot think of a warmer, happier time in my life. I remember the sights of those times more than the sounds, and at Christmas, he always sparkled with the warm lights all around our home. I think he looked around himself at this big, full family—he looked around at his own good fortune and the happiness there—and sat back, satisfied that everything came out well. Not just the lights or decorations or presents, but that the people in his family came out well. If there is a Heavenly vision now with him, perhaps it is that same kind of feeling or scene. Even now he has given his family many things.

    He was acidic, sarcastic but generally joking and finding great humor in many things. He was also self-deprecating. Even when MS was bothering him, he maintained his humor. He had some trouble with falling asleep and not knowing it. So he told me that he made sure the soup bowl was far enough away from his face so he wouldn’t go to sleep in it. It might even have been true, but he still found that very funny, the idea of drowning in one’s own soup. I think he may have thought it an ironic way to go out. That dry wit has descended to his children, but also to his grandchildren. Many people cannot recognize it, but I can—when they talk, when they joke or even when they go on to more serious subjects, that same essence of personality is with them. They know right and wrong. They are quick tempered, and the anger lasts a long time—when they believe the cause is just. He passed this down and probably didn’t even know it.

    I have already told him this, I think it was just last year, but I will say it again here: I had the very best childhood, especially in my formative years, but also through high school, that any kid could think to have. I appreciate it more as I grow older—I suspect we all do—but even if there were some bad times, the good outweighed them by a thousand pounds. He worked hard to give us a steady, middle-class life, and he succeeded.

    I hope he can sit back now, just as at Christmas, and see that life was not empty, it was not unappreciated by those around him, and it was not in vain. I hope he feels the warmth of love and good spirit. It is cold outside at Christmas time, but within, all is warm and shining, the radio is broadcasting songs, and every once in awhile, an announcer comes on to let everyone know that Santa Claus is over Greenland on his way from the North Pole. I want him in that warm chair near the tree, feeling satisfied—even vindicated—that he did all right, the presents are ready, the kids are happy and the dog sits at his feet, waiting for another cookie.

    My father was a man of faith. I am not sure about whether he was openly religious, though he said, “Some religion is better than none,” when I informed him about the faith of his granddaughter. I thought he would be mortified, but he wasn’t. I know he had been a Catholic, but again, right and wrong got in the way. He went to a priest when he was going through a divorce with my mother, and the priest told him that he would be excommunicated because of the divorce. Catholic dogma at the time didn’t allow it.

    On the other hand, the priest told him, he could send a letter to the Pope stating that he had never intended to stay married to my mother in the first place. He and my mother had been married for 22 years!

    So my father said, “Let me get this straight: my choices are either excommunication or lying to the Pope?”

    The priest told him yes, so my father asked, “What is the greater sin?”

    I am not sure what the answer to that was from the priest, but for awhile, my father was not a Catholic anymore. Yet I think he remained of the belief that there is a God, and that some sort of life existed after this one.

    He encouraged faith, in part because it reinforced the ideas of right and wrong he held so strongly. He must have passed some of that to me because when I found out he died, I told my wife that I was mad at God. I still am. I am sure it will pass. You may think that is the wrong way to feel, but sometimes God is mad at his children and sometimes the children feel mad at God. Yet the faith is there and in one sense, the faith in God is the greatest miracle of our age. That any person should still hold enough belief to feel mad at a deity is proof that faith works. Either way, I am convinced that Dad believed it, and somehow I think it worked. I am not sure where he is now, but it is firmly inside the light of God, wherever it is. That is proof that he passed on something else: we must sometimes take things on faith.

    If I could have a single wish fulfilled today, I would want it to be Dad’s wish—not mine. His wish might have taken MS out of the equation for the last twenty years (indeed, he also bravely went through having his prostate removed before that). That he might have been well, because he earned it. It is natural for the son to outlive the father. I can accept that, but this disease stole many years and many moments. Therefore, I would encourage anyone out there reading this to give support and a voice to MS research in order to find a cure.

    Yet I said that might have been his wish—I don’t think that was his wish in the end.

    Nor would I even say that saving animals is his wish today, though I would also encourage giving to both animal shelters, and giving of yourself to taking care of animals—because that is what he would do.

    I think most of all, he wished for the bonds of love and the warmth of family to extend as far as it could. So I am wishing for all the love I can send out to our family near and far—those people who, whether they know it or not, were the most important people in Dad’s life. I want to wish you all the love, peace and joy you can imagine. Slow down, sometimes, and think of a time when you were with Dad and felt peace or laughter or fulfillment. Then send that blessing around to the people closest to you. My thoughts go out to you all.

  4. James L. Miles, Jr.

    My Uncle Bill was a wonderful man. I will always remember and treasure his generosity, jovial smile and positive attitude. I have several good memories from early childhood, mostly of him joining us at family events and especially Christmas at my Grandparent’s house. As his son pointed out, Bill definitely enjoyed Christmas.

    One story that will always remain with me, was Uncle Bill coming to my rescue in June of 2002. I was on my way to car show in Carlisle PA and ran out of gas outside of York PA; there I was sitting on the side of the road with a car load of kids and then I remembered the one person I knew in PA — Uncle Bill. He answered my phone call and drove out to find me along Route 15, already armed with a full gas can. He would of course except not a dime for the gas or his time and I was back on the road thanks to his generosity; in hindsight, he always seemed to be willing do anything for anybody in need, that was the kind of character I saw in him, for as long as I had known him.

    I regretted when he moved from PA to Texas and looking back, realize I should have called more often and made the trip down to see him. We communicated by email now and then, always talking about his latest car purchase or modification back in the days when he was well enough to drive and tinker. He loved his automobiles and telling old stories of past cars he owned or worked.

    His illness took a heavy toll on him and his family and I am certain he is in a better place now, able to keep an eye on us all and certainly staying busy as did before his health deteroriated. If there is a workshop in Heaven, you’ll find him there!

    My best wishes and condolences to his family and certainly Marilyn, who provided support, care and love beyond human measures and under difficult circumstances.

    Rest easy and play hard Uncle Bill… I will see you on the other side.


  5. Mary Worsham Cassidy

    My daddy…. I miss you and all the love and joy you gave to everyone around you! As others have so eloquently shared, you touched so many with your kind and giving nature and your desire to try to keep the world we lived in on an even path of right outweighing wrong.

    I know of dad’s strong faith and, although he never pushed his views, he definitely lived his faith. I have imagined his joy upon arriving in heaven with no pain and no sickness, dancing and leaping, and praising God.

    I have no words to express how much I am missing you but am so happy that you are not suffering! I love you, daddy! You did good!

    Love and prayers to all who knew and loved our dad…

Leave Your Condolence