By Charles W. Ferguson
June 25, 2025
“Her children rise up and call her blessed…” – Proverbs 31:28
Today, my grandmother, Cleona Wilson—affectionately known to me as Honey—would have celebrated her 92nd birthday.
She transitioned in February, and while time has continued its march, my heart still pauses when I think of her. Especially today. On this day, I don’t just remember her—I feel her. In my spirit. In my bones. In the quiet moments when I crave her laugh or wisdom or just one more conversation.
Pictured: My grandfather Charles W. Wilson, my grandmother Honey (Cleona Wilson), and me. Three generations of love and legacy.
Honey was a woman of strength, faith, and endless love. She loved cookies, watching children play, and talking about the goodness of God. But above all, she loved family. She was married to my grandfather, Charles W. Wilson, for an incredible 72 years. That kind of love—steady, tested, and true—is rare and sacred.
She raised three children: Janette (who now rests with her), Charles R., and Teresa. She was a grandmother to both me and my wife, Myrissa. And she was the great-grandmother of our son, CJ. The generational blessings she carried are still unfolding through all of us.
I remember being a little boy and riding in the car with her to Nationwide Children’s Hospital for speech therapy. More than just giving me a ride, she gave me a voice. When doctors and therapists suggested special education placement, she was the one who said “No.” She believed in my intelligence. She fought for it. She saw me when others tried to define me by limitation. That kind of love is life-altering.
That’s why I called her Honey—because her presence was sweet, comforting, and always left you wanting more time with her. She gave freely of herself, yet always had more to give. She was soft-spoken but strong, warm but wise, gentle yet unshakably grounded in truth.
I miss her every day, but today the grief is deeper because the celebration feels quieter without her. Still, I honor her by remembering. By telling her story. By living out the legacy she planted in me.
Honey, thank you—for every ride, every cookie, every prayer, and every time you told me I was smart enough, good enough, and worthy enough. Thank you for choosing to believe in the boy I was and the man I’d become.
We carry you in our hearts. We live what you taught us. We are your legacy.
Happy Heavenly Birthday, Honey. I love you always.
Dr. Charles W. Ferguson 