Michael Rowland

There are no words big enough for a man like him—but this is our attempt.

Michael Rowland, 71, of Newark, Ohio, passed away on July 15, 2025, surrounded by family, with his daughter Makayla by his side as he took his last breath—an unbreakable bond held until the very end.

Our world cracked wide open the moment he left. Because Michael wasn’t just a father or grandfather. He was everything. The calm in the storm. The man who showed up every single time, even when his body was tired, even when life had taken so much from him. He stayed. He fought. He loved harder than anyone we’ve ever known.

He was a Vietnam-era veteran. A builder. A protector. A quiet force that made everyone feel safe just by being in the room. He never asked for recognition. He never asked for help. He just gave. And gave. And gave.

His children and grandchildren were his whole heart. They were his purpose. His soft place. He didn’t just live with them. He lived for them. And every part of them was better because he was there.

He was a grandfather to Ares, Rylee, Emmalyn, Rhemi, Rooster, and countless others who didn’t have to be born into his bloodline to be claimed by his heart. If you needed him, he was yours. He loved that way. Freely. Fiercely. Unconditionally.

Michael is survived by his daughter Makayla Rowland and his son River Rowland, who now carry the unbearable task of learning to breathe without him. He was preceded in death by his parents, Richard and Pansy Rowland; his son, Michael Rowland Jr.; and his precious grandchild, Reagan Rowland. And while the pain of losing him feels endless, there’s peace in knowing he’s with them now—building something eternal, like only he could.

A military burial will be held at Ohio Western Reserve National Cemetery. He’ll be honored the way heroes should be—quietly, humbly, and completely surrounded by love.

But we’re not ready. God, we’re not ready.

How do you say goodbye to the person who held everything together?

Who made you feel safe just by existing?

Who stayed steady in a world that never was?

“It’s not the numbers chiseled in the concrete—

It’s how they lived their lives in the dash between.”