Ryan Stirling Watton
Obituary

From Julie, Ryan's wife:

I’ve thought a lot about what Ryan would want for us at this moment.

A moment I couldn’t have imagined and didn’t prepare for.

A moment none of us saw coming.

But Ryan learned a long time ago not to wait. Not to leave things undone. After surviving Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, he never put off tomorrow what could be done today. Whether it was getting his yearly physical, saving for Kat’s college, signing her up for guitar lessons, or telling you exactly what he thought… he just didn’t see the point in waiting.

He lived every day 100% himself.

He had this inner, uninhibited joy in simple things you rarely seen in adults. In boogie boarding and bouncy houses, in skiing and sailing, in good music and good jokes. He often found himself the butt of those jokes: like the time he locked himself out of the house in his boxers one winter and the new neighbors took pity on him, or the time he showed up to meet my friends for the first time in full Spider-Man face paint fresh from a company picnic, or when he slept through the alarm the morning of our honeymoon and only packed one of each shoe. He wasn’t afraid to laugh at himself and he wasn’t afraid to laugh at you.

And, still, he was wicked smart.

He sought out work that challenged his financial compliance software skills, and would work relentlessly to solve a problem or meet a deadline. He started a new job last year, one he absolutely loved. He told me the work was hard, but his co-workers stretched across multiple countries were “good people, nice people” and he said that made all the difference.

He used those same problem-solving skills to fix anything. Everything. He took great pride in estimating how much he saved us on electricians, plumbers, carpenters, and mechanics. Because there were few things Ryan loved more than a good deal. He often tells the story that he decided I was “the one” after I brought a coupon to one of our first dates.

That was fifteen years ago.

In between then and now, we’ve lived in five homes and three states. Those moves were the backbone of building my career, and he was always my biggest cheerleader.

And then we had Kat, and it transformed Ryan in all the best ways.

He loved her with everything he had and everything he was.

When she was little, he learned all the lyrics to “Let it Go”, so they could sing and dance together. Earlier this year, he taught her fractions, drying up tears of frustration. Even when they argued, I’d have to smother a smile. Both stubborn, both emotional, both exasperated: he didn’t realize he was debating a 10-year-old version of himself.

In all the little ways and big ways and most important ways, he was the best possible dad he could be for her.

And that brings me back to what Ryan would want from us in this moment. For the parents who outlived him: Vicki and Cliff Watton. For his siblings: West Watton (wife Kelly), Mark (wife Danielle), and Joy. For my parents, Kathy and Dennis Wolfe who loved him like son, and my sisters Chris, Michelle, and Liz. For his gaggle of nieces and nephews, cousins, aunts and uncles, Grandma Gigi, and many, many friends that feel more like family.

I think he’d want us all to stop putting off the things we should say to each other, the things we should do for each other. He’d want us to let go of the serious moments and spend more time on the silly ones. And, without a doubt, I know he would want all of us to remind Katherine every single day for the rest of her life how much he loved her.

Like most of us, Ryan wasn't just one thing.

But anyone who saw him with Kat for even a few moments would tell you, most of all, he defined himself as a damn good dad. I'm incredibly grateful I got to share that journey with him.