Michael William Thomas

Mike Thomas was an original and did things his own way. Obstinate and stubborn as a mule, steady as a fence post, and wired like a cowboy who refused to be tamed. He lived by his own code, made his own rules, and didn’t ask permission from anyone. If something needed doing, he’d say, “I’ve got to do something; even if it’s wrong,” and then he’d go do it. Sitting still was never his style.

He loved his kids and grand kids fiercely. Not in flashy or sentimental ways, but in the solid, unshakeable way that meant you were safe because he said so. His love showed up in protection, loyalty, and standing behind his family no matter what. His family was his pride, even if he didn’t always put it into words.

Mike loved cars, to him a car wasn’t just metal and rubber; it was freedom. It was horsepower, wind in your face, and the open road calling his name. The rumble of that engine fit him perfectly: bold, unapologetic, and impossible to ignore.

He swore like a truck driver and laughed just as loud. His humor was quick, sharp, and sometimes a little rough around the edges but it was always real. He could make you shake your head one minute and laugh the next.

Beneath that tough exterior was a man who was always there. If you needed someone to listen, he’d pull up a chair. If you needed to talk it out, he’d crack open a cold beer and sit with you as long as it took. He might not have had fancy advice, but he had presence that was steady, loyal, and true.

He was the kind of man who would help anyone without hesitation he could fix what was broken, show up when it mattered, and grumble the whole time like he wasn’t happy about it… even though he was. Helping people wasn’t about recognition for him; it was just what he did.

Mike loved dogs. His dog was his loyal sidekick, and that loyalty meant everything. He loved his family —his siblings were his best friends. His brother, John was his lifelong partner in crime. Their bond ran deep, built on shared history, stories, laughter, and the kind of understanding only brothers share.

Mike wasn’t polished. He wasn’t soft. He was strong, real, and unforgettable. A stubborn cowboy at heart who loved hard, laughed loud, listened when it mattered, and lived fully.

He will be deeply missed, fiercely remembered, and forever loved.