Obituary

Joan Lanelle Lemke Ortner was a daughter, sister, wife, mother, grandmother, and friend whose life was marked not by loud applause, but by quiet faithfulness and steady love.

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Joan was born on August 13, 1944, in Rosebud, Texas, to Milton and Florence Lemke. She grew up on a corn farm alongside her older brother Wayne and her little sister Cathie. From those early days she learned the value of hard work, responsibility, and loyalty. She milked the family cow every day before school and helped with the harvest in the summer. The bond she shared with her siblings remained one of the great anchors of her life; no matter where the years took them, they were always close at heart.

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As a young woman Joan was full of energy and determination. She was an athlete, playing basketball and running track, and she carried that same discipline into every chapter of her life. She left home to attend Southwestern Junior College for high school, and it was there that she met the love of her life, Ronnie Ortner. What began as a high school romance grew into a lifelong partnership. They married in 1966, and a year later, when Ronnie was drafted and served in the White Coats for the U.S. Army, Joan stood proudly beside him as they moved to Fort Detrick, Maryland. Those years shaped them; teaching resilience, devotion, and strength.

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After Ronnie’s honorable discharge from service in 1969, their journey took them through Texas and Kansas. Joan wore many hats from marketing executive, real estate agent, community member and more. Whatever role she held, she brought integrity and heart to it. Though she practiced real estate for only a few years, she kept her Kansas license for more than four decades, a quiet testament to her pride in her work.

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In 1974 their daughter Lisa was born, and Joan stepped into the role she cherished most: being a mother. Joan and Ron also shared a love for custom cars and music. They hosted car shows with Daryl Starbird, the famed “Bubbletop King,” and promoted country music concerts featuring artists who would later become legends such as Tanya Tucker, Glen Campbell, Waylon Jennings, Barbara Mandrell, Alabama, and many others. Ron and Joan's passion for music led them to build and manage the first open-air amphitheater, Mutton Hollow, in Branson, Missouri. Life with Joan was vibrant, creative, and full of connection.

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The family moved to the Denver area in 1978, and in 1982 their son Derek was born, a sweet and unexpected blessing. Joan cherished motherhood with her whole heart, and she embraced these later years of raising Derek with a renewed energy and special tenderness.

 

When the family later settled in Colorado Springs, she began serving as a substitute teacher at Lisa and Derek’s school. She wasn’t there just to fill a classroom; she was there to watch over them, to know their friends, to understand their world. For Joan, caring for children was never simply a job, it was an extension of who she was.

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Her heart for service reached far beyond her family. Joan volunteered generously with the American Red Cross, Huguley Hospital, Hope West Hospice, the Fort Worth Stock Show, Southwestern Adventist University, and countless other organizations. She gave her time without needing recognition, stepping in wherever there was a need and offering comfort to patients, support to community events, and steady hands behind the scenes. She believed that loving people meant showing up, and she showed up again and again.

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Perhaps the clearest picture of Joan’s character was seen in the years she became the primary caregiver for her father, her mother, and later her brother. Caregiving is holy work, and is not easy. It asks for patience when you are tired, gentleness when you are worried, and selflessness when no one is watching. Joan gave all of that freely. She advocated for them, protected their dignity, and walked beside them in their most vulnerable seasons. She treated caregiving not as a burden but as an honor.

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Those who knew Joan describe her with the same words again and again. Gracious, kind, warm, welcoming, and most of all classy. She carried herself with gentle elegance, always put together, always mindful of others. Joan once said that her character was formed by a moral code adopted years ago, and she lived by it faithfully, determined to do right by people. And she did.

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Of all her titles, none brought her more joy than “Gigi.” Her grandchildren, Grayson and Hayden, were the lights of her life. Her face lit up when she spoke their names. She delighted in their laughter, their accomplishments, even their ordinary days. She cherished their drawings, told their stories, and prayed over their futures. Anyone who watched Joan with her grandchildren witnessed her truest self. She was tender, proud, protective and overflowing with affection. The legacy she leaves will live brightly in the kindness they show and the love they pass on.

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In her final days, Joan spent her time writing Valentine’s cards to friends and family. That simple act says more about her than any list of accomplishments ever could. Greeting cards were her language of love. They were her way of saying, I see you. I remember you. I love you. Even as her strength faded, her thoughts remained fixed on others. She wanted no one to doubt that they were cherished. What a beautiful testament to her character—that her last efforts were spent drawing her circle close and sending love out into the world.

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From Joan we learn what truly endures: to keep our people near, to take the time to say “I love you,” to never let a birthday or holiday pass without reaching out, to choose kindness in the everyday moments where life is actually lived.

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We feel the ache of her absence, but we also feel her presence in the lives she shaped through her service, her caregiving, her friendship, and her steadfast devotion to family. We see her reflection in Lisa and Derek, in Grayson and Hayden, and in all of us who were blessed to know her. Joan did not need a stage to leave a legacy. She built one through a lifetime of faithful love.

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Well done, good and faithful servant. You are deeply missed, and you are forever loved.