Keith Ralph Jolley crossed his final finish line on June 24, 2025, at his home in Richland, Washington, though we suspect he’s still skipping rocks and making pig noises somewhere just beyond the veil.

He was born in Richland in 1957, where he spent most of his life, except for about 25 years in Utah, where he found and expanded his family. He is survived by his wife, Michelle Jolley; children Lauri (Jason) Schlierman, Aubrey Gray, Chase Jolley, and Isaac Jolley; and grandson Charles Schlierman. He is also survived by siblings Karen (Jedd) Thomas, Deanne (Bill) Jolley, David (Tamsen) Jolley, Kevin (Doré) Jolley, and Janell (Mickael) Glencross; sister-in-law Jeanna Jolley, and his lifelong friend and fellow mischief-maker, Bill Niemuth, the third member of a trio that included the late David Borup. He was preceded in death by his parents, William Gary and Lois Jean Jolley; and brothers Lindsay and Brent Jolley.

Keith was equal parts rock and rascal. He was steady when it counted: loyal, devoted, humble, patient, and kind; but if there was mischief to be had, he probably lit the match. He spent his youth orchestrating shenanigans with Bill, Dave, and Lindsay, his adulthood parenting with creativity and humor, and his entire life loving people and making sure they felt valued.

He rarely raised his voice, but his laughter could disarm the boogeyman. He could convince a runner to push one more mile or make a nervous kid feel like they belonged. He was a collector of perfect skipping rocks, a Nilla-Wafer-in-milk perfectionist, and a connoisseur of jokes that made Michelle say, “Keith!” in that particular tone.

There is no way to fully sum up a man like Keith, but if you know these stories, you know him.

As a teen, he and his crew, Bill, Dave, and his brother Lindsay, made an art out of what could only be described as sleep-disrupting tomfoolery. Their favorite pastimes included carefully balancing rocks on car horns and ringing random doorbells at night, then ducking into bushes while the neighborhood lost sleep and sanity. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe every time he recounted these adventures, wheezing out the details with tears streaming down his face.

As a young man, he served a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in New Zealand, where he deepened his faith, made lifelong memories, and almost certainly found multiple opportunities to pull pranks on his fellow Elders. Even from the other side of the world, he kept his family laughing by sending taped reports of his experiences in the voice of “Peter the Pig.”

As a husband, he didn’t ease into love; he dove in headfirst. After meeting Michelle at The Bay, a dry dance club in Salt Lake City, he called his best friend and said, “I think I met the love of my life!” He wouldn’t propose without Bill’s blessing. And when he finally did, it was with the same ring Michelle had fallen in love with weeks earlier, quietly purchased and secretly saved.

As a dad, he gifted his kids a childhood full of warmth, weirdness, and just the right amount of wild. He taught them that love didn’t require biology, just commitment. He’d rock his youngest daughter back to sleep after nightmares, chase trains with his boys, and teach his oldest how to build a fire in the wind. There were shoeboxes full of crumpled bills passed off as birthday presents (and later ironed to perfection), and hours spent hunting for the perfect skipping rock. He made life feel like a camping trip with a side of Looney Tunes. One night, he initiated a saltine whistle contest at the dinner table, where everyone had to chew up a cracker and try to whistle before it turned to mush. That was his magic: turning nonsense into cherished core memories.

As a teacher and coach, Keith never held to tradition just for tradition’s sake. He taught his runners, “You can always do one more!” But when it came to PE class, he tossed out the usual team sports and introduced things like Hippo Wrestling, because he wanted every kid to have fun, not feel like a failure.

Keith had strong opinions about many things. He loved long-distance running, seafood, skipping rocks, and a perfectly dunked Nilla Wafer. He hated clogs and country music (which his kids were sure was a sin until at least high school).

His legacy is one of steady love, irreverent laughter, and the gift of never taking life too seriously.

Keith requested no funeral, no fanfare, and definitely no grave to be visited. In his honor, his family and closest friends gathered to do what he loved best: hang out in the backyard, laugh, and tell mildly incriminating stories to make Michelle roll her eyes.

We will miss his laugh, his never-ending supply of goodies, his completely non-critical advice, and his uncanny ability to make us laugh when we were supposed to cry.