The Life and Legacy of Lawrence Wilbon: A Brother’s Remembrance

by Kenneth Braswell

Check one, two. Check one, two. Even now, as I sit down to write this, the words feel elusive, slipping through my fingers as though they know they can never truly capture the man we lost. This piece is in dedication to my brother, my confidant, my friend—Lawrence Wilbon, who left us on December 26, 2024. Writing this feels impossible, yet necessary, because Lawrence deserves words that honor the man he was, even if they fall short of the mark. This is for you, L. This is The Death of the L.

The title—it’s more than just a phrase. It’s rooted in a joke, one Lawrence and I shared often. March 23 was his birthday, and I used to tell him it was the day the letter “L” was born. That playful banter became a way of saying what words often failed to convey: Lawrence was central to everything. He was the letter L personified. And now, with his passing, that title carries a weight I wasn’t ready to bear. The death of Lawrence Wilbon feels like the death of a part of me, a part of all of us who were lucky enough to know him.

Lawrence wasn’t just someone I worked with at Fathers Incorporated. He wasn’t just a friend. He wasn’t even just family in the casual way we sometimes use the term. Lawrence was my brother in every sense of the word. He was my armor bearer, my protector, my confidant, my shield. He carried my dreams, my burdens, my hopes as though they were his own. And now, he’s gone.

We met about six years ago when Lawrence and his family moved from Louisville, Kentucky, to Atlanta, Georgia. Introduced through mutual friends, he reached out to talk about potential opportunities at Fathers Incorporated. What was supposed to be a brief meeting stretched into a four-and-a-half-hour conversation. By the end, I knew I’d met someone extraordinary. At the time, there were no positions available, but Lawrence wasn’t deterred. He asked if he could volunteer, and from that moment on, he became indispensable. When an opportunity eventually opened up, I didn’t hesitate. Lawrence became our Vice President of Business and Community Development, a title that barely scratched the surface of his contributions.

Lawrence was the glue that held us together. He was the plug, the regulator, the one who filled gaps without hesitation or fanfare. He had an uncanny ability to catch what I missed, to handle what I couldn’t, and to do it all with a grace that made it seem effortless. But more than his role or his work, Lawrence was about people. He loved people. He loved deeply, fiercely, and unconditionally. His family was his world. His wife and children were the light in his eyes, the reason he worked as hard as he did. He loved his sister, his nephew, and his chosen family with the same intensity. And he loved all of us at Fathers Incorporated, not just as colleagues but as brothers and sisters.

Losing Lawrence at just 47 years old feels like a gut punch. It feels wrong, unfair, like a cruel reminder of how fragile life is. And yet, Lawrence’s life wasn’t defined by its brevity but by its depth. He lived intentionally, fully aware of the weight of legacy. We often talked about the inevitability of death and the importance of making the most of the time we’re given. Lawrence knew loss intimately. He’d endured grief that would have broken lesser men. But instead of letting it define him, he used it as fuel to live a life of purpose, joy, and service.

He had a way of finding light in even the darkest moments. I’ll never forget a recent story that captures his spirit. After helping me with a project, I decided to bless him with a financial bonus. I added the extra funds to his paycheck but forgot to tell him. Lawrence, being the man of integrity he was, immediately thought it was a mistake. He called our CFO and COO, trying to return the money. When he finally reached me, I laughed and explained that it wasn’t a mistake, just a token of gratitude. His response? “Man, I was about to send that money back so fast! I don’t want to go to jail and hell at the same time!” That was Lawrence—always finding humor, always easing the tension.

But as much as I celebrate the man he was, I can’t ignore the void his absence has left. It’s a square hole on a board of round ones—a gap that no one else can fill. His Zoom square is empty now. His laugh no longer echoes through our meetings. His voice, his wisdom, his unwavering belief in the goodness of people—all of it is gone, leaving behind an ache that words can’t touch.

As I sit with this loss, I’m reminded of the legacy we carry as Black men, of the resilience and love that have defined our existence despite the odds. Lawrence understood that legacy. He lived it. He loved with intention, built relationships with care, and believed deeply in the power of connection. His ethos was simple yet profound: “Collaboration over competition. Any day. I just want everyone to win.” That’s who he was. That’s who he’ll always be.

So today, I honor Lawrence. I honor the way he lived, the way he loved, the way he refused to let the weight of the world crush his spirit. I honor the legacy he left behind, a legacy of kindness, humility, and unwavering faith in the power of service. Rest in peace, my brother. You were, and always will be, the letter L personified. And though your absence is deeply felt, your presence will live on in our hearts, our memories, and the work we continue to do in your name. You will never be forgotten.

Official Annoucement

Lawrence Wilbon
CELEBRATION OF LIFE
Saturday, January 4, 2025

Public Viewing * 10AM
Celebration Service * 11AM

Spirit and Truth Church
2240 Springdale RD, SW
Atlanta, GA 3035

Attire: Royal Blue and Black