Dennis Allin Gilmore

Dennis Allin Gilmore, age 60, of Mechanicsburg, and formerly of Zionsville, Indiana, passed away on Sunday, August 30, 2026. Dennis was born on Saturday, February 12, 1966, in Frankfort, Indiana to Robert Lee Gilmore and Pamela Sue (Linedecker) Lippert. 

Dennis’s survivors include his wife of 32 years, Tonya Nichole (Davenport) Gilmore; his son, Anthony Gilmore of Franklintown; his father, Robert Gilmore and wife, Pamela, of Zionsville, Indiana; his mother, Pamela Lippert of Lebanon, Indiana; his two sisters: Denise Cochran (Brian) of Lebanon, Indiana and Doniel Kolm (Pete) of Lebanon, Indiana; his two step-sisters, Jill Handshew (Trevor) and Heather Starwalt of Zionsville, Indiana; and several nieces and nephews.

It is impossible to sum up 32 years of marriage and a lifetime of memories in an obituary. Especially when the man you are trying to describe was Dennis—and Dennis was never exactly easy to sum up.

Dennis was my husband, my best friend, my partner, my adventure buddy, my biggest pain in the butt, and the person I spent nearly every waking moment with for 32 years. We were together 24/7, and somehow, we actually liked each other. Most days, we even laughed about it.

And we laughed. Every. Single. Day.

Dennis was a jokester. He could find humor in just about anything, and if there wasn’t anything funny happening, he was perfectly capable of creating something. Life with him was never boring. He had a way of making ordinary moments memorable, and many of the stories we will tell about him for years to come will probably start with, “Remember when Dennis…”

Dennis worked at Kenworth of PA, but his most important job was being there for the people he loved. He was the guy you called when something was broken, something needed figured out, or you had absolutely no idea what you were doing.

Anthony knew this better than anyone.

Dennis was Anthony’s fixer of all things. If it could be fixed, Dennis would fix it. If it couldn’t be fixed, he would probably take it apart anyway just to see what was wrong with it. And if Anthony needed Dad, Dad was there. No questions asked.

Anthony had his own way of paying his father back for all those years of fixing things—he cooked for him. And not just anything. Steak and potatoes, usually. Dennis was perfectly happy with that arrangement. Honestly, between fixing things and getting steak and potatoes in return, he probably thought he had raised Anthony exactly right.

Some of the best parts of Dennis’s life happened at our camper at Raystown. He loved camp. It is referred to as our "Happy Place". He loved tinkering around in his garage, even when none of us were entirely sure what he was tinkering on. He loved riding the side-by-sides through the mountain trails with Anthony and I and our many friends. He loved the noise, the adventure, the laughs, and the people who became family along the way.

And then there were the nights around the table with friends—good food, old stories, reminiscing about the crazy things we’d done, laughing until our sides hurt, and of course, a Crown Royal and Diet Pepsi nearby.

Dennis loved his snacks almost as much as he loved making people laugh.

I used to tell him he was like my two-year-old toddler when it came to snacking. He could eat dinner and somehow be looking for a snack before the dishes were even put away. God bless his sweet tooth.

He was happiest when he was surrounded by the people he loved, telling stories, picking on someone, being picked on in return, and making memories without even realizing those moments would one day become the ones we would miss the most.

For 32 years, Dennis and I did life together. We worked, camped, rode, traveled, laughed, argued, made up, ate too much, laughed some more, and built a life that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

He wasn’t just my husband and Anthony's father. 

He was our person.

He was the one I looked for when something funny happened. The one I wanted beside me when we went somewhere. The one I wanted to tell things to. The one who knew me better than anyone and somehow still chose to stick around.

Now comes the part none of us wanted.

Learning how to live in a world where Dennis isn’t.

There will be an empty chair at camp. There will be a quieter garage. There will be mountain trails that don’t feel quite the same. There will be dinners where someone tells an old story and everyone laughs—and then there will be that moment when we realize Dennis isn’t sitting there to add his version, which was probably exaggerated anyway.

There will be snacks in the cabinet that don’t mysteriously disappear.

And there will be a thousand little moments when I turn to say something to him before remembering I can’t.

But I hope we never stop telling his stories.

I hope we never stop laughing at the things he did.

I hope Anthony never forgets that whenever he needed his dad, Dennis was there.

And I hope everyone who knew him remembers that underneath the jokes, the tinkering, the snacks, the side-by-sides, and the Crown Royal and Diet Pepsi was a man who loved his family and his friends fiercely.

Dennis, you gave me 32 years that I will treasure for the rest of my life. You gave Anthony a father who would fix anything he could get his hands on. You gave your friends a lifetime of stories. And you gave all of us more laughter than we probably deserved.

We would give anything for one more day with you.

One more ride.

One more dinner.

One more stupid joke.

One more argument over something neither of us will remember five minutes later.

One more “What do you want for lunch today?"

And most of all, one more ordinary day together—because I never realized just how extraordinary our ordinary days were.

So go ahead, Dennis.

Go tinker in that heavenly garage.

Ride those mountain trails.

Have your Crown Royal and Diet Pepsi.

And for God’s sake, leave some snacks for everybody else.

We’ll see you when we get there.

Until then, I will love you every day, just like I did for 32 years.

Forever my husband.

Forever my best friend.

Forever my person.

We love you, Babe. Always.

All are welcome to join Dennis’s family at his celebration of life open house and gathering of family and friends on Tuesday, September 8, 2026, from 1:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. with a time of remembrance at 3:00 p.m. at Buhrig’s Gathering Place, 25 East Main Street, Mechanicsburg, PA 17055, (717) 766-3421 (next to Buhrig Funeral & Cremation); with Pastor Darrell Williams officiating. Over 100 parking spaces are available; just look for the “Buhrig” parking signs in all of the parking lots. Cremation was private.  

Dennis’s family has entrusted his care to Buhrig Funeral & Cremation in Mechanicsburg, (717) 766-3421. Read Dennis’s full obituary, view his memorial video and Photograph, offer condolences and sympathy, share stories and memories, upload photographs and videos, light a candle and sign his official guest book by visiting Buhrig.com.