Welcome to the memorial page for
Christopher J. Holz
July 27, 1962 ~ August 20, 2015 (age 53) 53 Years Old Light a Candle
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Message from Don & Dorothy Atchison
August 30, 2015 9:39 PM
Sorry to hear about your loss, sorry we didn't make it to the funeral home, we were tied down with company,
May God give you, His peace through this time, of sorrow, and give you strength in his memory to move on. And remember he will always be with you.
May God give you, His peace through this time, of sorrow, and give you strength in his memory to move on. And remember he will always be with you.
A candle was lit by Greg Ebert
on August 30, 2015 6:07 PM
A candle was lit by Casey, Scott and Jack
on August 30, 2015 12:54 PM
A candle was lit by Mandi Holz and Addisyn
on August 28, 2015 7:42 PM
A candle was lit by craig weidner
on August 28, 2015 7:58 AM
A candle was lit by Keith Thompson
on August 26, 2015 9:24 PM
Message from Mary & Dewey Capelle
August 25, 2015 6:24 PM
Our hearts go out to Chris's Family, we met Chris thru a very close friend of ours, Di Ann, when they all were racing, we came to see the races, and enjoy everyone's company afterwards. Chris was so full of life and always made us laugh, Chris had a big heart, and was ready to lend a hand to anyone who needed help
, we will remember Chris for his kindness and his humor! <3
, we will remember Chris for his kindness and his humor! <3
A candle was lit by Mary & Dewey Capelle
on August 25, 2015 6:07 PM
A candle was lit by Charles and Kay Ebert send our sympathy
on August 25, 2015 5:35 PM
A candle was lit by Len and Wendy Tamm.
on August 25, 2015 1:33 PM
Message from Jeannie Klicko
August 25, 2015 9:47 AM
My heart and prayers go out to all of Chris's loved ones, his family and friend's! I know this is such a very hard time for my dear friends Chad and Sue but always remember Chris is just a thought, a word away.
A candle was lit by Jeannie Klicko and Family
on August 25, 2015 9:42 AM
A candle was lit by Mark and Kelly Haznaw
on August 25, 2015 8:11 AM
A candle was lit by Ron Olson
on August 25, 2015 7:50 AM
A candle was lit by Jay Watzlawick
on August 25, 2015 5:43 AM
Message from Paul Purgett.
August 25, 2015 5:33 AM
Had the pleasure of working several jobs with Chris since I started at Kruepke. Chris was always willing to help and was a ready source of information. Seems our days always included a few laughs along the way and a wave when we saw each other on the highway. I will miss his loud gravely voice coming through the speaker of my CB.
Godspeed my friend.
Till we meet again.
Godspeed my friend.
Till we meet again.
A candle was lit by tom witt
on August 25, 2015 5:08 AM
A candle was lit by Cindy Gavin+Ray Butzke
on August 25, 2015 12:03 AM
A candle was lit by Owen & Dawn Berg
on August 25, 2015 12:01 AM
Message from Sue Morgan & Katie, Erin, and Mike Deuberry
August 24, 2015 10:35 PM
Someone on Reddit wrote the following heartfelt plea online:
“My friend just died. I don’t know what to do.”
A lot of people responded. Then there’s one old guy’s incredible comment that stood out from the rest that might just change the way we approach life and death.
“Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children and I can’t imagine the pain to lost a child. But here’s my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter.” I don’t want to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love an relationship I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can live deeply and love deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
“As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for awhile. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
“In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and you don’t even have time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After awhile, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything….and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
“Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow, you will, again, come out on the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of wreckage, but you’ll come out.
“Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow, you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”
“My friend just died. I don’t know what to do.”
A lot of people responded. Then there’s one old guy’s incredible comment that stood out from the rest that might just change the way we approach life and death.
“Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children and I can’t imagine the pain to lost a child. But here’s my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter.” I don’t want to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love an relationship I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can live deeply and love deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
“As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for awhile. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
“In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and you don’t even have time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After awhile, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything….and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
“Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow, you will, again, come out on the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of wreckage, but you’ll come out.
“Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow, you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.”
Message from Sue Morgan & Katie, Erin and Mike Deuberry
August 24, 2015 10:02 PM
So sorry for your loss, Wendye....
http://www.thatericalper.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/boatsh.jpg
http://www.thatericalper.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/boatsh.jpg
A candle was lit by The Furrenes Family
on August 24, 2015 6:08 PM
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