Survived By: Wife, two sons and one daughter, 4 grandchildren. Brother Kurt, Sister Toni

Written by his eldest son: Yesterday, [Jan 14, 2022] my dad Stephen Kolt was released from his pain and passed away. Many of you may have wondered why you hadn't seen him at the Mitchell Street Pub & Cafe reading people's horoscopes lately. (He knew everyone's sign by memory.) For others, you've wondered why his office suddenly closed and he hasn't been reachable. I've had quite a few of you reach out to me asking if he was OK, and we've been pretty tight lipped. It's what he wanted. He had been fighting fatigue, shortness of breath and other symptoms for quite some time. Then in late March of last year, after being forced to the emergency room, and a week or so of tests, they diagnosed him with late stage Mesothelioma and gave him 6-months to live. Fortunately, he was able to avoid too much time at the hospital, and spent the majority of his last time on earth at home with his beloved wife (when he wasn't in Chemo or having some other sorts of tests.) For the most part, the doctors were trying to buy him time, or hope that maybe, just maybe, they could get him strong enough to remove the cancerous lung. However, his condition was too far advanced. Fast forward 10-months (screw you 6-month diagnosis, you didn't know how stubborn my dad was), and he had his final chemo treatment. Unfortunately, it wasn't having the intended effect, and doctors were recommending he stop treatment. About a week and a half ago he started to decline pretty rapidly, and eventually was transitioned into hospice care at Hiland Cottage in Petoskey, where he eventually passed. (I am so thankful he didn't pass alone at the hospital, and know he would be too.) While he wasn't comfortable, he wasn't in terrible suffering either, and had someone by his side the entire time, either his wife Maryellen Kolt, or my brother Jay. I was able to visit him as well. Hold his hand. Kiss his forehead. Jam out some music from a playlist him and I started when he got sick. While a prolonged decent into death is never easy, I'd like to think we provided him with moments of solace, relief, and love. Even until his very last day, he would still flash us a grin here and there, as if to say "I know this sucks, but I'm going to be ok. Don't be afraid. I love you." One thing I will say is that, at least outwardly, my dad never approached this entire thing with fear in his heart. Maybe it's the Kolt way, but we know life is uncontrollable, and especially nature will do what it wants with us. Fear. Despair. Pity. Those things change nothing, but taking what life gives you with your head up, focusing on love, family, and the gifts you've been given is the key to a life well lived. The attached pictures are the last images I took of him before he started to get really sick. The first time my daughter River met him. This is arguably the single most important moment of my life in the last year. Immortalized forever, and here for you to share. It is his wishes to not have a memorial or funeral. We'll be cremating his body and spreading the ashes at Sturgeon Bay, so in the future, if you want to visit him, that's where he'll be. -- I do have plans to do a little something to honor his passing, while still honoring his wishes, so there will be more information on that once I can get my s**t together. For the countless others who've been wondering about Doc Steve, and those mourning the loss of a really f**king good guy. Despite your flaws, and mine, we'll always be standing side by side. Enjoy your time jamming out to tunes, free of pain. It's time to take that walk you'd been talking about. I love you Dad.