Mr. Wilbur Hull Jr.

May you rest in peace! Tell all my family and friends that we miss them all so very much. Your sister Sheila!

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. Psalm 121:1-2. Family, we are praying for you! For sure, we know where we can find unending love, comfort, support, and peace! Just rest in His arms!! Much love and BLESSINGS!

Nunu,

It’s hard to put into words what you meant to me because you’ve always just been a part of my life. To everyone else you were Junior, but to me you were simply Nunu, and that’s how I’ll always think of you.

When I think about you, one of the first things that comes to mind is my very first job washing windows with you. I can still feel those early mornings the air still cool enough to raise goosebumps on my arms, the faint bite of cleaning solution clinging to my hands, and the steady rhythm of the squeegee dragging across glass until it squeaked clean and clear. I thought I was just making a little money, standing on ladders trying to keep up, my arms getting tired and my shirt sticking to my back under the sun. But you were teaching me something bigger. You’d step back, squint at the window like you were inspecting a masterpiece, and make me redo it if it wasn’t right not because you were hard on me, but because you wanted me to take pride in everything I put my name on. Even when I was exhausted or rushing, you’d just say, “Nah, do it right,” calm but firm, and somehow that stuck with me more than anything else ever could. I still hear it sometimes when I’m doing things now.

You always had a way of making people laugh. I can still hear your voice cutting through a room LOUD, confident, impossible to ignore turning even the most ordinary moment into something funny. You were full of life, incredibly talented, and carried yourself with a kind of confidence that made people gravitate toward you. I still laugh thinking about some of the wild things you tried to teach me, like your “catcalling lessons.” I remember walking with you, half embarrassed, half laughing so hard I could barely breathe, while you demonstrated your exaggerated calls and jokes like it was some kind of class I didn’t ask for but will never forget. People probably stared, but you didn’t care you were just being you, fully and unapologetically, making life feel lighter just by being in it. Even now, I can still hear the echo of your laugh in my head when I think about those moments.

And I’ll never forget your jean outfit with all the NBA teams on it, paired with those “ CHING CHING  boots.” You used to step out like you were walking a runway, like it was the freshest fit in the world, and honestly, to you it was. You had that confidence where it didn’t matter what anyone else thought—you wore it because you liked it, and that was enough. I still smile thinking about it because it was so you: bold, funny, and completely unbothered.

One thing that always amazed me was how smart you were. Whenever I got stuck on my algebra homework, I can still see us sitting at a table or slouched on a couch, papers spread out between us, pencil tapping while I tried to make sense of it all. The room would be quiet except for your voice and the scratch of the pencil, and I’d feel that mix of frustration and relief knowing you were there. You never made me feel dumb. Instead, you’d lean in close, point at the problem, and break it down step by step until it finally clicked. And when it did, you’d just nod like it was obvious the whole time, like you always knew I could get there. You had a gift for helping people understand things, and you gave it freely, without ever asking for anything in return.

What I’ll remember most, though, is how deeply you loved your family. It wasn’t something you had to say out loud. It was in the way you showed up, the way you made time even when life was pulling you in every direction, the way you’d check in on people just to make sure they were okay. I can still picture you in the middle of everything voices overlapping, phones ringing, people moving around you yet you still found a way to laugh, to talk, to make someone feel seen. You had a presence that made people feel like they mattered, like they were important just by being near you. That kind of love doesn’t fade. It stays in people. It changes them.

Thank you for believing in me, for teaching me, for making me laugh until my stomach hurt, and for giving me memories that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I wish we had more time together more conversations, more laughs, more ordinary days I didn’t realize I’d one day miss this much but I’m grateful beyond words for every moment we did have.

I love you, Nunu. I hope you truly knew how much of an impact you had on my life, and how often I’ll find myself thinking back on you in the quiet moments. You’ll always be a part of me, woven into who I am, and I’ll carry the lessons you taught me wherever life takes me.

Until we meet again. Rest easy.

May the Savior continues to hold you in his mighty hands. Love you forever and always day.