Michael Alan "Mike" Witfoth

Michael Alan “Mike” Witfoth, 61, of New Port Richey, Florida, passed away on Tuesday, October 6, 2026, leaving behind an extraordinarily large family, many dear friends, and more stories than could ever fit into one obituary.

Mike was born on April 20, 1965, in Monroe, Michigan, to Robert and Betty Witfoth. One of 16 children, he grew up surrounded by the laughter, personalities, commotion, and bonds that come with being part of such a large family. Those family connections remained an important part of his life throughout his 61 years.

Mike found the love of his life remarkably early. He and Lisa had been together since they were just 14 years old. On Valentine’s Day, February 14, 1982, they married in New Port Richey, Florida. What began as teenage love became a marriage and partnership spanning more than four decades and a family that Mike cherished above all else.

Together, Mike and Lisa raised three children: Jennifer Exum (Wade); Michael Witfoth (Kimberly); and Stephen Witfoth (Ashley). He was a proud grandfather to six grandchildren: Lane, Lorelai, Sagelyn, Sarah, and twins Taylor and Tyler.

To his grandchildren, he was Papa. To his sons, he was Dad—and to Jennifer, always Daddy. To his siblings, especially when they were young, he was Batman. And to many of his friends, he was Stump—a fitting nickname for a man who was stocky, strong, dependable, and seemingly built to handle whatever life put in front of him.

Mike was the kind of man who could seemingly fix almost anything.

A gifted mechanic, he devoted 27 years to Pasco County Schools. Earlier in his career, he also worked as an automotive mechanic at a dealership and, for a period of time, operated his own auto repair garage. Within the family, though, Mike was never simply a mechanic— he was THE mechanic.

If your car would not start, made a strange noise, or was doing something it should not be doing, you called Mike. It was not unusual for someone many miles away to describe a problem over the phone and for him to have a pretty good idea what was wrong without ever seeing the vehicle.

His talents extended well beyond cars. Mike loved boating. A skilled captain, he took people out on fishing charters and captained boats in fishing tournaments. He enjoyed building and working on airboats and loved taking his own boat and airboat out whenever he could.

Fishing was one of the great loves of his life. Mike was an accomplished fisherman who enjoyed the waters of Florida and especially loved tarpon fishing tournaments in Boca Grande. He also loved hunting, whether spending time at their property in Tennessee or returning to Michigan, where so much of his family’s history remained. He had looked forward to retirement and having more time for the woods and the water.

The outdoors suited Mike.

Whether he was on the water, in the woods, working on an airboat, under the hood of a car, or simply figuring out how to fix something that someone else had given up on, Mike was in his element.

But as much as he loved fishing, hunting, boats, cars, and working with his hands, he loved his people more.

Time with Lisa, his children, his grandchildren, his siblings, his extended family, and his friends mattered most. He was someone people leaned on—often without fully realizing just how much they leaned on him until he was gone.

Mike was a rock.

Not because he demanded attention or needed to be at the center of things, but because he was simply there: steady, capable, and dependable. He was the person people called when something was wrong, when something needed fixing, or when they needed somebody they knew they could count on.

And then there was Mike’s sense of humor.

Anyone who knew him learned fairly quickly that you probably should not believe everything he told you.

Mike could make up the most outrageous story and deliver it with such a straight face that you might spend several minutes trying to figure out whether it could possibly be true. Usually, it wasn’t. He was just messing with you—and he was exceptionally good at it.

With more than 150 nieces, nephews, great-nieces, and great-nephews, Mike touched generations of his family—and everyone seems to have an Uncle Mike story.

A prank he pulled. Something ridiculous he convinced them was true. A fishing trip. A hunting trip. A car he fixed. An airboat adventure. Something he built. A time he dropped what he was doing to help. Or simply something he said that still makes them laugh years later.

In a family as large as Mike’s, he had a rare way of staying above conflict, never holding grudges or picking sides. He simply remained Mike—easy to love, easy to laugh with, and someone people from every branch and every generation of the family felt comfortable around.

That quiet steadiness may be one of the things his family will miss most.

Mike was preceded in death by his parents, Robert and Betty Witfoth, and his siblings Robert, Judy, Charles, and John.

He is survived by his beloved wife, Lisa Witfoth; his children, Jennifer Exum (Wade), Michael Witfoth (Kimberly), and Stephen Witfoth (Ashley); his grandchildren, Lane, Lorelai, Sagelyn, Sarah, Taylor, and Tyler; and his siblings Richard, Gerald, Alice, James, Norma, Kathy, Karen, Clyde, Joyce, Mary, and Carl. He also leaves behind an extraordinarily large extended family and many friends who loved him deeply.

Mike lived with kidney cancer for many years, but cancer will never be what defines his life.

His legacy is found in the family he loved, the grandchildren who called him Papa, the children who called him Dad and Daddy, the siblings who knew him as Batman, the friends who knew him as Stump, the people he helped, the things he built and repaired, the waters he fished, the woods he hunted, and the laughter and stories he left behind.

His passing leaves an enormous void.

In many ways, Mike had quietly become one of the rocks of his family—and perhaps no one fully understood how much space he held until that space was suddenly empty.

But knowing Mike, he would probably think everyone was getting a little too serious about him by now.

So please, tell the stories.

Tell the ridiculous ones. Tell the ones you are still not entirely sure he made up. Tell the fishing stories, the hunting stories, and the airboat stories. Tell the story about the car he somehow diagnosed over the telephone. Tell the stories about the times he showed up when somebody needed him.

And keep laughing.

Because if there is one thing Mike left his family with in abundance, it is stories worth telling.

Batman. Stump. Mike. Uncle Mike. Daddy. Dad. Papa. Husband. Brother. Friend.

He was called many things by the people who loved him.

To many, he was a hero.

And to all of them, he was a rock whose place can never truly be filled.

Celebration of Life

A celebration of Mike’s life will be held on Saturday, November 7, 2026, at The Concourse Rotary Pavilion, 11919 Alric Pottberg Road, Shady Hills, Florida 34610.