Jacqueline Mae Miller

The linchpin is something that supports and holds another thing together. It’s the most important part of anything — the most crucial part of a plan is the linchpin. If something or someone is indispensable, she’s the linchpin. Take away the linchpin, and everything falls apart.

Sunday, January 19, 2025 at 9 AM our linchpin, our keystone, the anchor that kept our family together in the storms of life, passed away. Jacqueline Mae Miller was born on September 22, 1939 and was a juggernaut of fire and what it means to survive against all odds. She was relentless in her convictions. Jackie was generous and kind. Her sense of humor was as wickedly sharp as her peanut butter cookies were sweet.

The title of Mother and Grandmother seems flimsy for a woman like her, and honestly, when I picture what those words mean, she embodied them in her own way. She always knew how to get the job done and enlisted those around to help. She made you get up on Saturdays and wipe down the baseboards with a damp wash cloth and sweep the stairs. She taught you to keep your room picked up and your bed made, so that you sleep better. She loved to have people around, and she was always on the go. “A rolling stone grows no moss” as she would say. 

To the COUNTLESS neighborhood kids and all our friends, she was “Nanny” or simply, “Grandma Jackie.” And if you were naughty, you got a whack on your butt, and as tradition goes, you were granted the honor to write your name on the paddle. “Pa is the Boss, as everyone knows, but what MA says, always goes” is what was on the opposite side of the paddle and, boy, was a truer statement never made. Some of the names are written multiple times. It was always in good fun, and it never hurt. 

Grandma didn’t want to be defined by her death, but rather by her extraordinary life.

Anyone within a ten-mile radius knew they could come to her home and be fed, and were always welcome to stay and play or swim. But you better not leave wet towels on the pavement; you knew to hang them over the back of a pool chair to dry and you knew to pick up the pool noodles and goggles and return them to “the bucket.” She was a mother and teacher to all who cared to learn. 

She taught me how to find the “drop off” and how far out to go to get to the sand bar and dig our toes in the sand to look for sand dollars. She once told me “People will do what’s in their heart. People will say one thing but do another,” and “The squeaky wheel gets the grease.” Her lessons came in many forms.

My grandmother loved deeply and forgave quickly. But she NEVER forgot. “Can you believe Molly quit band!” She was still telling that story, even though I’m 44 years old. Or telling people how Alea skipped a bunch of days in school, and when the school called, she marked x on every day she skipped and then made her “guess” what it meant. Or when Richard caught his bedroom on fire. He will never live that down! She loved retelling the time her son Buddy, rode his horse into town and got pulled over. He got a ticket that said “one horse power white over tan.” The 70’s and the antics of her children may have given her more than one gray hair. As I’m reflecting on the years of my life and the moments of importance, Grandma was always in frame. She was the lighthouse, when I needed guidance back to the safety of the harbor. 

She was beside me, when I brought my sons into the world. She loved babies. She’d say, “Oh, I love the smell of babies; holding them, makes me feel young again.” She never passed up a chance to snuggle a new little bundle of life. We all learned from her, and I know there were many more lessons that were lost to the ages, when she passed on. 

The last time I saw her, she was frail and sick. I never expected her to get cancer. I don’t think anyone did. I think it shocked her most of all. The grief of losing her comes in waves crashing over me. But I am so grateful for the tears and the shared stories of triumphs and pain. Grief and sadness are the evidence of love. How beautiful to be a person who was loved by so many people, who are now grieving and crying with me. What an honor and privilege to live 85 years, through wars and poverty, through births and deaths. Raising children, then burying those same children. The loss of husbands and a sister. She traveled, whitewater rafted, and rode Harleys. She loved gardening and sewing, but most of all, she loved being a wife and mother and making her house a home. 

She gave so much to so many, and never really asked for much in return, other than to stop and visit when you could. I should have visited more. We all should have visited more. Stayed a little longer and hugged a little tighter. 

She joined those who preceded her in death: Bud King, her first husband and love of her life. AJ Miller, her second husband who helped her raise her adopted children. Her daughter, Tracy Lynn King Gaskill, and her youngest son, Robbie King, as well as her older sister, Lynn Rowe. She is survived by her sister, Arletta McDonald; sons, Buddy King and Mike King; two adopted daughters, Molly Lynn King and Alea Lynn King; adopted son, Richard Alan King; as well as many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. 

Any tributes you would like to make may be sent to her adopted daughter, Molly, to be added to the final expense fund. She will be laid to rest at Rice Cemetery at a later date, to be announced along with a memorial service.

Elkhart Cremation Services has been entrusted with her care.

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