Honoring Patrick Wright: A Life of Kindness, Laughter, and Community

Patrick was not at the last City Council meeting.

Patrick hasn’t been at the library lately, nor the YMCA.

Patrick’s not here anymore, and that feels weird.

Patrick Wright, for many years, was a familiar sight around Martinsville. If you’ve ever been at public events in Martinsville, you’d remember the cheerful grey-haired and balding gentle giant who was always smiling and giving pleasant greetings.

He died on March 10. The picture used in his obituary was absolutely fitting: Patrick, looking directly into the camera, smiling from ear to ear, holding his hands out as if in greeting. Also it seemed somehow fitting to learn through his obituary that his middle name was Homer. What a good middle name for such a friendly and genuine guy.

“I just loved Patrick,” said Martinsville Vice Mayor Kathy Lawson. “He had a sense of humor that just made you smile. Always polite, cheerful, and respectful. I enjoyed his visits to Council because no matter what the topic he brought to us, there was always a smile and almost always a chuckle. He was a delightful young man! He will be missed!”

Patrick once ran for City Council. Ever after, he still carried and proudly showed his business cards with his slogan, “Vote for Wright and you won’t be wrong. You can’t go wrong with Wright.”

I mostly saw him at the Martinsville Library, one of the main places he spent time. Lately, he’d often be there at a table studying out of his GED books, and he liked to talk about his progress toward completion. His obituary states that “he would be elated to know that an honorary degree will be awarded posthumously.”

Pam Cobler knew Patrick through the monthly community meetings of Disabilities Unlimited, of which she is the Community Advocate. “Patrick was always thoughtful in his comments, loyal to attending the meetings, and always seemed joyful with a great attitude. He was a joy to be around, and his smile and kind words will be missed,” she said.

His obituary said he often visited the Virginia Museum of Natural History. I don’t go there enough to have run into him there, but I did once call him into the MHC Heritage Museum, where I’m the executive director. One chilly autumn morning, I looked out through the window and saw him walking by. I went out to greet him and invited him inside.

He was walking to the store to buy a cup, he said; his cup had broken.

“A cup!” I exclaimed. “We have cups here! Lemme give you one.”

Patrick came in and had a look around our local history museum. He talked a great deal about some of the exhibit items.

Some of those comments connected what he saw to what he’d been studying lately for his GED. He was very proud of his progress toward earning his GED.

I usually bring my lunches for work from home, and every now and then, when I’ve made a big batch of something, I bring enough leftovers for a couple of days’ worth of midday meals. It was great fortune that on the day Patrick came, I had a gracious plenty of lasagna, broccoli and salad. I invited Patrick to join me for lunch, but by then he was ready to head on. I packed him a proper home-cooked meal that he took home with him and could heat up that night in the microwave.

Little did I know that that was the last I’d see of Patrick.

We often get some chance to say goodbye to people with official roles in our life: When family members, coworkers or close friends are in health decline or have been in an accident, we’re notified.

But then there are those people, like Patrick, who are important parts of the fabric of a community. We did not have any relationship beyond just seeing each other at the same places and events around town; Patrick was always just “there.” Always a part of things.

Until he’s not.

And his passing leaves quite a void.