Wesley Alan Butler, Sr. - Spicer-Mullikin Funeral Homes & Crematory

Wesley Alan Butler, Sr.

Born February 5, 1952

Wesley Alan Butler, Sr., age 61, of New Castle, DE, passed away peacefully on Tuesday, November 19, 2013.
Born in Elkton, Maryland on February 5, 1952, Wesley was the son of the late William Henry Butler and Ronayne Dolores Lynch Butler. He joined the US Navy at the age of 16, and was honorably discharged in January of 1976. He also served as a member of the Delaware Army National Guard until 1975. Wesley made his career as a truck driver, working for various companies, including Young Lumber. He later worked at Home Depot as a sales associate.
An avid reader, Wesley was especially fond of science-related periodicals. He loved playing with remote control cars, planes, and boats. He was a devoted husband and father, who adored spending time with his family.
He is survived by his beloved wife of 38 years, H. Doreen Woods Butler; sons, Wesley Alan Butler, Jr. and Joshua Butler; sister, Dana Matthews and husband, Fred; and many nieces and nephews.
Services and interment will be held privately and at the convenience of the family.
In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions in Wesley’s name may be made to Seasons Hospice of Delaware, 220 Continental Drive, Ste. 101, Newark, DE 19713.


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3 Condolences for Wesley Alan Butler, Sr.


  • RIP Brother. You will be missed. I hope you are in a better place with Mom and Dad. I will never forget our talks. I was honored to have you as a brother.
    Love your sister, Dana

  • To my loving Husband,
    You will be forever missed and the years with you were as lovely and you were. He have two wonderful son’s who you loved more than life. Here is a favorite poem and the way I fee right now:

    Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
    Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
    Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
    Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

    Let airplanes circle moaning overhead
    Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
    Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
    Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

    He was my North, my South, my East and West,
    My working week and my Sunday rest,
    My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
    I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

    The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
    Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
    Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
    For nothing now can ever come to any good.

    I secretly loved your stories!!