Jeffery Earl Goble

Birth date: Oct 8, 1959 Death date: Mar 19, 2026

Jeffery Earl Goble passed away on March 19, 2026. His life was complex and deeply human, marked by both challenges and moments that shaped those around him in lasting ways. He was preceded in death by his parents, Boyd and Margar Read Obituary

Wall Obituary Events Media

Macy Enimic

37m ago

I remember being just a little girl, still in diapers, and you were already there steady, patient, and somehow knowing exactly how to love me even when I didn’t understand what that meant yet. You stepped into a role that wasn’t easy, but you never once made it feel like a burden. You just… showed up. Every day. For me. You taught me things most little girls don’t get taught, but I’m so thankful you did. You taught me how to fish, standing behind me with your hands guiding mine, telling me to be patient, that good things take time. You taught me how to hunt, not just the act of it, but the respect behind it the quiet, the awareness, the responsibility. You didn’t just teach me skills… you taught me how to be strong. You showed me how to drive before I was even ready, sitting beside me, calm and steady, telling me I got this even when I was scared I didn’t. You let me mess up without making me feel small. You made me feel capable.
I can still see us out there on the land, planting grass, picking seeds, working side by side. It wasn’t just work… it was time. Time where I felt seen. Time where I felt like I mattered. You didn’t just teach me how to do things, you taught me how to take pride in them. You taught me what it means to build something with your own hands. And even when things weren’t easy… even when me and mom didn’t see eye to eye… you were always on my side. Not in a way that caused more chaos, but in a way that made me feel like I wasn’t alone. Like someone understood me. Like someone chose me. You showed me how to love not with words, but with actions. With consistency. With patience. With being there when it counted.
God needed you in heaven for whatever reason… and I may not understand it, but I hope you’re finally at peace. Fly high with the angels, daddy. I love you more than words can hold, and I’ll carry you with me in everything I do.

Rest in peace.

Anna Scott

2h ago

in honor of Jeffery.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to say and how to say it. I have so many great memories with Jeff—the man I called Dad. He took me and my sisters in and raised us as his own. I looked up to him as a father figure because that’s exactly what he was. He was the best I’ve ever had.

He was there for us through everything. When my dad passed away, Jeff was there to comfort me and my sisters. He taught me so much—how to fish, how to gut a fish, and even how to cook it. I’ll always remember the camping trips, the mountain drives, and all the times we went four-wheeling together. He stood by me through every high and every low. Jeff had a way of making the impossible feel possible. He was simply amazing at being himself and doing what he loved.

Jeff was my ride-or-die dad. I can still hear his laugh like it was yesterday. One of my last memories with him means so much to me—we went up north to the mountains and had a BBQ. He had accidentally gotten something on his pants and didn’t even realize it until I told him. He didn’t want to go after that, but I wasn’t taking no for an answer. I ran to Family Dollar and bought him a whole new outfit because I just wanted to spend that time with him.

That day was special. He got to meet my daughter for the first time, and she loved him—she called him Grandpa. He sat there helping cook hot dogs with her, and he sang “Free as a Bird,” his favorite song. It made me cry. I remember him playing that on the piano and singing it to us when we were little. Those are moments I’ll hold onto forever.

I also remember when he taught me how to drive a stick shift in his gray Ford truck. He was patient, and he made learning feel easy.

At the end of the day, we’re all human. We all make mistakes. But people with good hearts have the ability to forgive, to grow, and to love deeply. Jeff was one of those people. He was a good man, and a damn good father and grandpa.

I hope wherever he is, he’s at peace. I hope he and my dad, Jackson, are together having the best time.

Jeff, I miss you. I missed you the day I left that house, because you were a part of me. I love you.

Rest in peace—you truly deserve it.

A pale pink candle with a lit flame, surrounded by small white flowers and a purple bud against a soft pink background.

Becca Gonzalez

3h ago

I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on the memories of my teenage and young adult years and the important part Jeff played in them. During those years, he was a father figure I looked to for so much—from the days he spent patiently teaching me how to cast a line into the water to the many games of Rummy at the kitchen table. He even tried his best to teach me about seed, and though I never quite took to it, I always appreciated that he tried to share that part of his world with me.
I’ll always cherish the way we used to banter back and forth; he could dish it out just as well as he could take it, and I loved that about him. I still have to laugh thinking about the day Ashley and I decided to venture off on what we were certain was the back way to Scipio. We were dead wrong, of course, and ended up getting his truck stuck. I don’t even recall how many miles we had to walk that night to find the nearest house, but I’ll never forget the look on his face when he finally came to our rescue. He definitely wasn’t happy in the moment, but he sure loved retelling that story to everyone afterward. He had that infectious laugh that could fill a room, the same energy he brought to the piano when his fingers would just flow through the keys and make it look so easy.
But more than anything, I’ll remember him as the best Papa to Blade. Blade always wanted to be right by his side, whether they were heading to the zoo, taking a quick trip to the gas station, or going for rides on the tractor. He adored Jeff, and those moments meant the world to both of them.
Most importantly, I will never forget the day my son Kason died. Jeff was there, standing with the rest of our family, and I will always be truly grateful for him being there for me when my whole world came crashing down around me.
While life eventually took us in different directions and those years became a part of my past, I still want to honor the impact he had on the girl I was. Jeff, I hope that wherever you are now, you are finally at peace and surrounded by love. I truly hope you’ve found my sweet little boy up there—please give Kason the biggest, tightest hug for me until I can get there to do it myself. I love you. Rest well, Jeff.

Macy Enimic

11h ago

Losing you feels like a silence I can’t escape… like something in my world just stopped, and I don’t know how to make it move again.

You were the man who raised me from a little girl. You were there in my life in ways no one else could ever replace. And even though our story wasn’t perfect far from it you were still mine in a way that only a stepdad who helped shape me could be.

We had our ups and downs. There were moments of love, and there were moments that broke me. You broke promises… ones I held onto, ones I believed in. You looked me in my eyes and lied, and that pain sat heavy on my heart for so long. There were things I wanted answers to, things I needed closure on… but now, the things that are unknown will never be a closed door. They’re secrets you took with you to the grave, and that’s something I have to carry for the rest of my life.

And that hurts in a way I can’t even put into words.

But even through all of that… I forgive you. Not because it didn’t matter, not because it didn’t leave scars but because I don’t want to hold onto that pain anymore. I choose to let it go, even if I never got the truth, even if I never got the apology I deserved.

I just hope God forgives you too.

I hope He sees your heart in ways I couldn’t. I hope He gives you the peace we never quite found here. And I hope, wherever you are, you’re finally free from whatever it was that kept you from being the man I needed sometimes.

Rest in peace as you lay to rest.
And as much as it hurts to say goodbye… I’ll carry both the love and the pain of you with me, always.