This isn’t going to be your ordinary obituary because there was nothing ordinary about our mother. It’s difficult to capture the life of her, in just words, because she was the very heart of our family. Born on October 10, 1932, in Elbow Lake, Minnesota, she grew up with a quiet strength that carried her through an amazing life. She passed away leaving behind a family shaped by her wisdom, patience, and generosity.
Mom was the wife of a merchant marine, which meant long stretches with our father out at sea. Some may have felt daunted by the challenge of managing a busy household on their own, but not our mother. With grace, patience, and determination, she raised five daughters—Susan Wheeler, Michele Hulbert, Julie Gothard, Darcy Gothard, and Lisa Gothard—while also caring for extended family under the same roof. Many a neighborhood child found comfort, care, and a second home with her, because her door and heart were always open, and she made sure there was always a seat at the table. She held everything together with a steady hand, a soft voice, and an infinite well of love.
Her life wasn’t confined to the walls of our home, though. She had an adventurous spirit that took her all over the world, a curiosity that never dimmed, and a joy for life that was contagious. Whether she was exploring faraway places or simply at home with us kids, she lived with intention and gratitude for every moment.
What stands out most about Mom, though, was her heart. She was giving, compassionate, and so very generous—not just with her time and energy, but with her love. She taught us patience by example, showing us how to meet life’s challenges with calm and grace. She was the person everyone could rely on, the one who listened without judgment, the one who gave without expecting anything in return.
Her family was her greatest legacy and is carried on not only through her daughters, her beloved grandchildren—Lauren, Max, Molly, Tommy, Kelly, Tyler, Rachel, and Cade, her two great-grandchildren, Oly and Shelby and her son’s-in-law Dennis and Jack and grandson-in-law James. Each of us carries a piece of her, whether it is her humor, her strength, her kindness, or her love of time spent with family.
To say we will miss her feels too small. Our lives will always feel her absence, and her presence—in the lessons she taught us, in the love she gave so freely, and in the family she built that remains bound tightly together.
Mom, thank you for everything. For the countless sacrifices you made, for the laughter you gave us, for, the patience you showed, and for the unwavering love that shaped us into who we are. You were our anchor, our safe place, our home. We are eternally grateful to have been your daughters.
Loved and adored by all.
Beautiful soul, until we meet again,
Susan, Michele, Julie, Darcy & Lisa
A heartfelt tribute to our mom Doris, from a family friend:
When you grow up in a small community, but on the "wrong side of the tracks," so to speak, it is easy to see the things that could have been better and miss some of the little miracles that kept things from being any worse than they already were.
For me, one of those quiet miracles was Doris Gothard, mother of five girls, wife of a merchant seaman who was out to sea for most of the year. She single-handedly managed a large household with extended family. And did I say five girls? Yeah, to this day, I still marvel at how well things went in her home to which I was invited, repeatedly, as a fellow Girl Scout, 4-H member, and school mate to at least two of the five beautiful women she raised.
Doris was the mom who always reached out; always offered a helping hand, and drove me to and from so many Girl Scout, school, music, 4-H and community events, I likely owe her 100,000 miles of gas. I was a year ahead of her eldest daughter, but only a few months older due to weird differences in the laws where I first started school before moving to the Valley where we grew up.
Her family was large, the Gothard House was a ginormous, two-story home with more bedrooms than I had ever seen before. My memory is each girl had her own room, at least for some of their teen years. The girls inherited stunning Scandinavian good looks, tan skin and the thickest blonde hair I had ever seen. They adopted new styles with ease and just as often set trends as followed them. I envied that about them - they each seemed genuinely comfortable in their skin and almost unaware of their own physical beauty.
I was fortunate to be invited to innumerable overnights, campouts, sleepovers and slumber parties at the Gothard House. The first time I awoke to my bra in the freezer (no reason it was just a "funny" prank) or watched while two 12-year-olds tried to get the hand of another slumber partygoer into a bowl of water without spilling or awakening the sleeping victim was at a Gothard sleepover. As a "sure-fire' way to induce bedwetting, it was a failure, but the screams and laughter when the water inevitably spilled on both victim and perpetrator were always a success.
Because of Doris' generosity and patience, I have memories of campouts, bicycle trips, dinners, celebrations, seances and living room slumber parties that only young girls of a certain time can so fondly remember. I learned the words to "Tears of a Clown," the 3-Dog Night hit, "Joy to the World" and was introduced to the soft rock ballads of Bread and other uniquely 70s hits for the first time during some of those sleepovers.
Doris was generous to allow the girls to have friends over many weekends throughout the years. She is a steady player in many of my positive childhood memories, even the time she drove me to the ER for my first stitches after I clumsily tipped over the little Honda 75cc motorcycle in the gravel driveway; spearing one rock deep enough it required anesthetic and scalpel to remove. She was so calm, and seemed more upset at the idea of mom having to pay for a hospital visit when she couldn't dislodge the rock herself, than with the blood or tears. At least one or two of the girls stayed to watch as she tried to scrub it out, regaling me with their (many) adventures with stitches, cuts and ER visits. Even then I was impressed because most of the time, she was the only adult around.
There were times my own parents got caught up in their life events and "forgot" to pick us up or misremembered that we needed a ride to or from an event. Inevitably, it was Mrs. Gothard who was there to "save the day." Also, she was wise enough to understand my embarrassment at having to ask for a ride, again and again and... again. And seemed wise beyond belief when I tried to avoid asking and would sometimes question me, quite closely, about who, where and when my ride was "supposed" to arrive... but obviously, had not. If it didn't sound right, she would insist on driving me miles out of her way to ensure I arrived home safely.
I know I thanked her in the moment, at least a few times, I think. Today, though, I recognize just how consistently reliable she was, and just how often she showed up, when others could not. When I consider what "might" have happened if she had not been there, I am even more grateful. It was years before my own parents became more cognizant of what is required to "parent" a child - to teach boundaries by example. Perhaps because they were raised in a different time, or perhaps their own needs crowded out any "could have" or "might have been" ideas.
I could never repay the sense of safety and comfort that she provided by being there, when other adults were unable to do the same. But, because she modeled the kind of behavior I came to view as "good parenting," it was her face and actions that fueled my willingness to step out of my busy day and go that extra step to ensure a kid's safety. Memories of her selfless concern for all the children was what I thought of when we drove a bit out of the way to give a ride home for friends and classmates of my own children and grandchildren.
Today, I saw in the paper that Doris passed at the age of 92, and felt compelled to write this note to say, "Your compassion and kindness did not go unappreciated. Thank you, for all the times you picked us up, dropped us off and at least one time, reminded me to go back INTO the house to ensure the burner on the stove was, indeed turned "off." You stepped up when you didn't have to, and your kindness did not go unnoticed. While I may have thanked you for the ride, I don't think I got to thank you for being a "good example." You helped make me a better parent, Doris, and I am grateful for that. Rest in Peace, and may your family find comfort in your memory.
Thank you, for everything.
Deane (Williams) Campbell
