It would be your 65th birthday today, if you were still with us. I never thought we’d lose you so early in your life. If you were still here today, I would love to take you to Cracker Barrel, or Olive Garden. You always enjoyed our eating out, especially an evening without the kids. I would surprise ( and embarrass you with them bringing you a piece of cake and singing). Then we would chat about everything as we drove home. I would have birthday gifts for you to open on your birthday, and not them being combined with Christmas gifts. Maybe a train model, or a book by your favorite author. We would snuggle, and I would tell you how much you mean to me, and how much I love you, and our life.
But alas, you’re gone in body, but memories and pictures live on, of our life together. I am so grateful for those. I hope you and Ben and your dad, are all together today, and you’re telling your cheesy dad jokes, and smiling from ear to ear.
Happy Birthday, my love. Qskers.

Sue Olson- Wife

Today is the anniversary of your passing. It is also Mother’s day this year. I miss our daily talks. This has been rough time. Ben passing in December. I hope you, dad and Ben are together and sharing all with each other. I miss the three of you so very much. My love for you, dad and Ben grows deep in my heart.

Edla Olson- Mother

I was looking at my wedding guest list I made a while back and realized you weren’t going to be there. You were like a grandfather to me and I hope I’m making you proud of what I have become. I know you’ll be watching over me and I want you to know how much I miss you!

Jenna breit- Friend

In my phone’s voicemails sit about half a dozen from you. They sit in this digital place and space and feel like a ghostly presence. A couple weeks after you passed, I listened to them. You left long messages. I never listened to any one fully through but just kept cycling from one to the next, to the next, to the oldest, the newest, beginning to the end. That was the day I lost it and finally felt the full weight of you leaving this world and the guilt of leaving so many messages unanswered, not returned. Some messages I remembered hearing before and some I don’t think I had ever listened to before that day of playing them back in fragmented pieces.
I hope one day I can listen to them fully, to hear your voice, to hear you saying my name, to even hear your cough.
I can recall some of those fragmented pieces of messages— some were your typical weather reports warning me of snow; one was making sure I received stimulus money during the pandemic; another one was you telling me about a rare lunar event to watch for with Raquel. One was a Birthday message (mere weeks before your 2nd stroke… ) and you sounded so worried you mixed up the days and forgot to call me— but you did remember correctly even with your memory limitations.
One thing I do remember is every one of those messages ending with you telling me you loved me, were proud of me and that you hoped to hear from me soon. I’m sorry the latter part of that I couldn’t make happen. I hope somewhere, somehow, these words and feelings make it to you in whatever form your spirit carried on.
I promise I’ll work on making it possible for me to listen to these voicemails, in their entireties, to laugh, roll my eyes, to feel your love, and to feel at peace.
I love you. I miss you—

Nathan Olson – 3rd son

This was the song you said you wanted played at your funeral, many many years ago. Well, since there wasn’t a funeral, I want to play it now.

Well today is your birthday. If you were still with us on this planet, you would be turning 63 today. God how I wish you were still here to celebrate your day with you. Going out to dinner, and watching one of your favorite movies. Cake. Special moments between just us. And a gift to open on the actual day, not one that is mixed in with Christmas presents. I miss you today, and every day. Christmas memories sit heavy in my thoughts. If only I had one day to visit you, I would tell you once again how much you were always the one.

Sue Olson – wife

I still cannot believe it’s been six months since we lost you. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of you and miss you immensely. Christmas just won’t be the same this year without you. I hope you and Grandpa are enjoying your model trains, favorite foods and genuine laughs together.
Love you, Dad.

Sam Olson – Youngest son

A few weeks ago I got a tiny urn with your ashes in it. It’s hard to fathom that your big personality, your big love, your passion, humor, and zest for life has been reduced to powder.
When I last saw you, I wasn’t able to even get near you with Heritage’s health restrictions. But I was told if I waited a couple of weeks I’d then be cleared to sit next to you, and most importantly, give you a hug… You left me before I could make that appointment. I was both looking forward to that day, but also dreading it. Because I couldn’t bare to see you in that state again. Not able to speak, barely move… just a shell of yourself. But I regret not being able to hold you for a bit.
You called and left me a voicemail a couple of days before they found you unresponsive. I owed you a call back and never did it, and I hate myself for that. Your message said “I’m proud of you about something, give me a call so I can tell you why.” I should’ve called. No matter all that happened in our lives, or the distance between us, I always knew that you were proud of me. You made that so abundantly known. You helped me soar and put myself out there, because I knew you had my back.
I’m glad you’re free. While I never wanted to lose you, I also didn’t want you to be stuck living like that. I don’t know what I believe anymore in terms of where you go when you pass on, but hope you’re at peace, and are experiencing joy, and are maybe even reunited with Grandpa. I think of you often, and miss you immensely. Love you Dad. 

Ben Olson – Oldest son

I can’t help to keep remembering the days leading up to the wedding. Me getting my dress. You getting your tux. Choosing the music for the ceremony and the reception. Planning the rainbow arch. it was magical, and when the day finally came, it was the happiest day of my life. I planned to be by your side till death do us part. We had great times, trips, memories. Having all those babies. Enjoying each and everyone’s unique personality. Finally moving into our dream house. We spent a lot of great years there, and had many a birthday party.
Things took a turn for the worst when we lost the house through a crooked mortgage company, and that was the end of our happily ever afters. It was a lie that deflated everything in us. Spending years apart, but I still loved you. After all you’re my soulmate. We were always on the same zone and level. We liked all of the same things. For a while, we weren’t so nice to each other, and that really hurt. After your first stroke, we finally had that conversation that we needed to have. Forgiving. Talking through everything. We both made mistakes and we apologized and vowed to stay close from there on out. Visiting you and having us go out to dinner then watch a movie, just like old times, were the best last days I got to spend with you. After the second stroke. I was devastated. We had made peace, and enjoyed each others company, and then this. I prayed and prayed for a miracle, which was not to be. Losing you was bittersweet, because I knew you wouldn’t be happy living stuck in a body that didn’t work. That wasn’t you. I think of you every day. Songs, sights, trains, everything reminds me of you. Sometimes it’s hard to get through. But it gives me a comfort to know you’re in a better place. I will see you again someday. Wait for me. I’ll be there.

Sue Olson – wife

Woody brought fun and laughter to all our family get togethers. He was a great leader and teacher. One memory pops up every time I hear “God Bless the USA” … Cub Scouts, wooden box with the American Flag hanging vertically on it and a little boy (Ben) standing inside silhouetted by a spotlight. There’s a spot in the song where cymbals crash. At that exact moment Ben snapped his arm up in a salute. It was perfect and was Woody’s idea. He listened to that song a dozen times to help Ben get it exactly. Still get chills and tears thinking about it. That was Woody…

Lisa Arion – Family

I met Woody in the atrium at Elgin Community College in 1975. We both arrived at school very early (I didn’t like riding the bus with St. Ed’s kids — I don’t remember why he got there so early) and we got to know each other through our long, and often deep, talks about everything imaginable. We sometimes watched the sunrise. We both loved the book “Hope For the Flowers” by Trina Paulus. We lost touch, but reconnected later through email and eventually Facebook. In all the time that I knew Woody, he was always kind, sincere and genuine. I only saw him angry once, and that was because he thought I was doing something dangerous.
Please accept my condolences. Woody was one of the best people I’ve ever known.

Dona – An old friend

I worked with your father many years ago. He was a very intelligent, funny, and overall a great guy. I was very fond of him and enjoyed working with him.  I am so sorry for your families loss and will pass the information on. You and your family take care and if there is anything we can ever do for you please reach out and let me know.

Mike Diehl – Joe Cotton Ford

I always enjoyed working with Woody. He was kind, caring and an all around wonderful person. I enjoyed talking to him about our children, he was so proud of his children. When he could no longer stay working, we kept in touch through Facebook post and comments. Woody you are missed.

Amy Ackert – Woodhaven Lakes