Cindy Jo Gottfried

February 15, 1966 – September 4, 2026

Opening Music: “All Out of Love” — Air Supply

[Allow the song to play. When it ends, wait a few seconds before beginning.]

Welcome and Opening Thoughts

There is a line in the song we just heard that I think captures something Randy is feeling today:

“I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you.”

When someone has become such a part of your life — part of your everyday routines, your plans, your memories, your sense of home — and suddenly that person isn't there, lost can be a very real feeling.

Cindy's passing came without warning.

There was no time to prepare for this change in life. No time for Randy or the family to gradually become accustomed to the idea that a goodbye was coming.

And so today, there is sadness.

There are questions.

There is a tremendous sense of absence.

But that isn't the only reason we're here.

We're also here because Cindy gave us a lifetime worth remembering.

We're here because she loved people, and people loved her.

We're here because she created friendships, memories, laughter and relationships that did not disappear on September 4.

And while Randy may feel lost right now, I don't believe lost is where his story ends.

There are children and grandchildren who love him.

There is family around him.

There are friendships.

There are memories that may hurt today but will, in time, bring smiles and laughter again.

There will be stories about Cindy that are told over and over.

There will be moments when someone says, “Cindy would have loved this.”

And there will be good days again.

Not because anyone has forgotten Cindy.

But because she was here.

Because she was loved.

And because the love she gave becomes part of what those who loved her carry forward.

For those of us who believe in God, there is another reason for hope.

We believe that what we see in this life is not everything there is.

We believe that separation does not necessarily mean the end of a relationship.

And we believe that even when we don't understand what has happened, God remains with us through it.

So today, we're going to remember Cindy.

We're going to laugh if a memory makes us laugh.

We're going to cry if a memory makes us cry.

And we're going to hold onto the hope that goodbye does not have to mean forever.

For those who may not know me, my name is Tony Craig. Randy is my wife Tammy's brother; Cindy was our sister-in-law.

I'm not a pastor, and I'm not going to try to sound like one today.

I'm simply part of this family, and I was honored when Randy asked me to help us remember Cindy and celebrate her life.

Would you join me in prayer?

Opening Prayer

Heavenly Father,

We come to You today with heavy hearts, but also with grateful hearts.

We thank You for Cindy.

We thank You for the life she was given, and for every person whose life became connected to hers during those years.

We thank You for family.

For friendships.

For laughter.

For memories.

For the ordinary moments that didn't seem especially important when they happened, but mean so much more to us now.

We ask You to be especially close today to Randy.

Be with Brad and Annika; Nate and Allie; Chase and Virginia.

Be with the grandchildren — Keirah, Maizie, Natalie, Aiden, Liam and Zackery.

Be with Cindy's sisters, Cathy and Melissa, her nieces and nephews, her extended family, and the many friends who loved her.

Give comfort where there are no easy answers.

Give strength for the days ahead.

And help us today to celebrate Cindy's life — to remember the love she gave, the lives she touched, and the memories that will remain with us.

Amen.

Scripture — Psalm 23

Psalm 23 is a Bible passage many of us know, yet many of us forget its promise. It starts with:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

And later:

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.

The promise is not that we will never walk through a dark valley.

We will. We do.

The promise is that we do not have to walk through it alone.

Sometimes faith doesn't provide an explanation.

Sometimes faith simply gives us Someone to hold onto when explanations aren't enough.

Remembering Cindy

Cindy was born here in Massillon on February 15, 1966, to Terry and Patricia Dray.

And Massillon wasn't simply the place where Cindy happened to live.

It was home.

She grew up here. She attended Washington High School. She built a life here. She became part of the business community, was involved with the Chamber of Commerce, helped with community events, and formed friendships that stretched across many years.

She cared about this community because it was her community.

But a person's life can't really be captured by the places they lived, the schools they attended or the things they did.

A life is really found in the relationships.

And that is especially true of Cindy.

There is one word that keeps coming back to me when I think about what I know and have learned about her:

Devoted.

Cindy was devoted to the people she loved.

Family certainly mattered to her.

But Cindy also had that ability some people have to expand the definition of family.

Friends became family.

People remained important to her across years and distance.

She cared.

She listened.

She stayed connected.

She laughed with people.

And when somebody was important to Cindy, they knew it.

She also loved animals, and over the years there were many of them fortunate enough to find their way into Cindy's care.

She was part of her community.

She had longtime friendships.

She had people she could laugh with, travel with, work alongside, talk with and simply enjoy life with.

And then there was her family.

Randy.

Brad and Annika.

Nate and Allie.

Chase and Virginia.

Her grandchildren — Keirah, Maizie, Natalie, Aiden, Liam and Zackery.

Her sisters, Cathy and Melissa.

Her nieces and nephews.

And all the other people who became part of the circle Cindy considered family.

Each of those people knew a different part of Cindy.

And that's something I've been thinking about as I prepared for today.

There isn't one person in this room who can tell Cindy's entire story.

I certainly can't.

Randy knew a Cindy that none of the rest of us knew in quite the same way.

Her children knew another part of her.

Her sisters knew the girl she was before many of us ever met her.

Her grandchildren had their own special relationship with her.

Her friends have their own Cindy.

And somewhere in this room are probably dozens of little moments that nobody else knows about.

A conversation.

A trip.

Something funny she did.

Something kind she did when nobody else was paying attention.

Maybe something she said so often that you can still hear her voice saying it.

And as we spend this next minute or two together, I'd like you to think about your Cindy.

Not what somebody else might say about her.

What you remember.

Maybe it makes you smile.

Maybe it makes you shake your head.

Maybe it's something that happened years ago that you haven't thought about for a very long time.

Hold onto that memory for a moment.

Because in just a minute, we're going to give you an opportunity to share it.

Family and Friends Share Memories

I can stand here and tell you some things about Cindy.

But I think you would all rather hear Cindy remembered by the people who actually shared those day-to-day moments with her.

So Randy would like to give anyone who wants to an opportunity to come forward and share a memory.

It doesn't need to be formal.

And it doesn't need to be long.

It can be the memory that just came to mind.

A story.

Something she said.

Something that still makes you laugh.

Something you admired about her.

Or simply something you want Randy, her children and her grandchildren to know about what Cindy meant to you.

If you would like to share something, please come forward.

[Step away from the podium. Sit down if practical. Allow silence. Don't panic if nobody moves immediately — give them time.]

After the final speaker

[Wait several seconds and look around the room to make sure no one else is preparing to come forward.]

Thank you.

And thank you for sharing those memories with Randy and the rest of us.

What we've just heard is something no obituary, biography — or person standing behind this podium — could ever fully capture.

Because a life isn't only measured in years.

It's measured in relationships.

In moments.

In laughter.

In conversations.

In the things we do for one another.

And in the little pieces of ourselves that we leave behind in other people.

Introduction to “Faithfully”

There is one relationship we haven't talked very much about yet.

Cindy was many things to many people.

But to Randy...

Cindy was his wife.

When Randy was choosing music for Cindy, one of the songs he chose was Journey's “Faithfully.”

There is a promise in that song about standing beside the person you love, ending with:

“I'm forever yours, faithfully.”

And that word — faithfully — seems especially fitting today.

Because faithfulness is more than simply staying beside someone.

It's sharing a life.

It's knowing someone at their best and at their worst.

It's the ordinary days that nobody takes pictures of.

It's the conversations, disagreements, routines, inside jokes and memories that accumulate until two separate lives become intertwined.

Cindy was devoted to the people she loved.

And Randy chose a song about faithfulness for the woman he loved.

So this one is for Randy and Cindy.

Music

“Faithfully” — Journey

[Allow several seconds of silence after the song ends.]

Reflection — Love, Separation and Hope

There are other words in that song that sound very different when you hear them on a day like today.

There is that feeling of being somewhere without the person you love...

of feeling lost without them.

[To Randy]

Randy, there will continue to be days when "lost without you" describes things better than anything anyone else could say. And that's OK.

Because there were tomorrows you simply assumed the two of you were going to share. And now those tomorrows look completely different. But that doesn't make them unlivable, and Cindy would tell you the same.

I don't have an explanation that makes losing Cindy easy to understand.

And I don't think I'm supposed to.

Sometimes people think faith means having an explanation for everything that happens.

I don't believe that.

Sometimes faith means trusting God even when we don't have an explanation that satisfies us.

And faith certainly doesn't mean that we aren't supposed to grieve. It's OK.

[To audience]

One of the shortest verses in the Bible simply says:

Jesus wept.

He knew there was more beyond death.

And He still wept when someone He loved died.

So grief and faith are not opposites.

Grief is not evidence that faith has failed.

Grief is evidence that love was real.

The depth of Randy's loss reflects the depth of his love for Cindy.

Her children hurt because they loved their mother.

Her grandchildren will miss the place she held in their lives.

And family and friends are gathered here because Cindy touched their lives in ways they will continue to carry with them.

But there is another thought in "Faithfully" that I'd like us to hold onto.

The thought of someday experiencing “the joy of rediscovering you.”

Journey wasn't writing a song about heaven - we know that.

But sometimes words take on a different meaning because of the moment in which we hear them.

And today they can remind us of something Christians have believed for two thousand years:

Death does not get the final word.

Christian hope doesn't ask us to pretend Cindy isn't gone.

It doesn't ask Randy to pretend that tomorrow will feel normal.

There will be routines that feel different.

There will be birthdays and holidays and family gatherings.

There will be moments when a memory comes from nowhere.

And grief doesn't operate on a timetable.

Nobody gets to tell Randy how long he is allowed to miss his wife.

Nobody gets to tell Cindy's children when they're supposed to be finished missing their mother.

But neither does love disappear because somebody dies.

The memories remain.

The stories remain.

The laughter remains.

What Cindy taught people remains.

The difference she made in people's lives remains.

And Christian faith tells us something else remains.

Hope.

Hope that the separation we experience today is not forever.

There were people Cindy loved who went before her.

Her parents.

Her sister Dodie.

Others she loved and missed.

And now there are people here who will miss Cindy.

Christian hope looks in both directions.

It gives us reason to believe that those who have gone before us are not simply lost.

And it gives those of us who remain reason to believe that our own separation is not permanent.

And that's where Randy's song can mean something more for us today.

The hope of someday knowing...

the joy of rediscovering you.

Scripture — John 14

Jesus spoke to His closest friends at a time when they were facing separation and uncertainty.

He said:

“Let not your heart be troubled.”

He told them that in His Father's house there are many rooms.

That He was going to prepare a place for them.

And that where He was, they could someday be also.

Those words don't erase grief.

They weren't intended to.

But they give grief somewhere to look.

Beyond today.

Beyond what we can see.

Beyond the things we can understand.

They remind us that we can place the people we love into the hands of God.

And trust Him with what comes next.

Closing Thoughts

So today, even as we say goodbye to Cindy, we also say thank you.

Thank you for the friendships.

Thank you for the kindness.

Thank you for the laughter.

Thank you for the animals she cared for.

Thank you for the people she made part of her family.

Thank you for the stories we heard today and the hundreds of stories that didn't get told.

Thank you for the memories that will surface at completely unexpected moments.

And thank you for the love.

One of the best ways the rest of us can honor Cindy is to take care of the people she loved.

Call one another.

Check on Randy.

Check on Brad and Nate and Chase and their families.

Tell the stories.

Laugh about the funny ones.

Tell the stories where Cindy was wonderful.

And tell the ones where Cindy was being Cindy.

Those may turn out to be some of the best ones.

Remember what made her laugh.

Remember what made you laugh.

Say her name.

And especially for her grandchildren, keep telling them the stories.

Because Cindy was here.

Her life made a difference.

And what she gave to the people who loved her will remain part of them.

Would you pray with me one more time?

Closing Prayer

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for Cindy and the years You shared her with us.

Thank you for every person whose story became connected to hers.

Thank You for the memories that can bring a smile even through tears.

Today we place Cindy into Your care.

And we ask You to care for those who remain as well.

Be especially close to Randy.

Not only today, while family and friends surround him, but in the quieter days that come afterward.

Be with Brad and Annika, Nate and Allie, Chase and Virginia.

Be with Keirah, Maizie, Natalie, Aiden, Liam and Zackery.

Be with Cathy and Melissa, with Cindy's nieces and nephews, and with every member of this family.

Be with her friends who have lost someone who became family to them.

Give them people to lean on.

Give them patience with themselves and with one another.

Give them reasons to laugh — and the freedom to laugh when those moments come.

And when the road ahead feels lonely, remind them that they do not walk it alone.

Most of all, give us the hope that beyond what we can see today, there is more.

That love is not wasted.

That death is not the end.

And that the people we love can someday be found again.

We ask these things in the name of Jesus.

Amen.

Final Words

Before we leave this part of our time together, Randy and the family invite all of you to join them for the Celebration of Life that follows.

There will be more stories.

More memories.

Probably some more tears.

And I hope quite a bit of laughter, too.

Thank you for being here.

Thank you for loving Cindy.

And in the days and weeks ahead, please keep loving the people Cindy loved.

We began today with a song that put words to the feeling of being lost without someone.

I hope we leave here remembering something else.

Because of love, we leave here with more than an empty place in our hearts.

We leave with something to carry forward.

And for those of us who hold onto the Christian hope we've talked about today...

goodbye does not have to mean forever.

There is one final song the family chose for Cindy.

We'll let the music have the final word.

Closing Music

“Stairway to Heaven” — Led Zeppelin

[The service ends with the music. Do not return to the podium afterward; allow the funeral director to take over.]