Jerry Dale Lotts

A Tribute: Jerry Dale "J.D." Lotts Sr.

For my Dad: May 19, 1952 – June 14, 2026

 Written by: Becky Wetherington June 14, 2026

In Memory of Jerry Dale “J.D.” Lotts Sr.May 19, 1952 – June 14, 2026

My father, Jerry Dale “J.D.” Lotts Sr., passed away on the morning of June 14, 2026, in Jarratt, Virginia. This is not a traditional obituary. It is a daughter’s attempt to honor a life that cannot be summarized by dates alone. No obituary can fully capture a person. No collection of facts can tell you what it felt like to know them, love them, laugh with them, or miss them. Still, I want to try.

Dad was born on May 19, 1952, in Waynesboro, Virginia, to James Kenneth Lotts and Charlene Rankin Lotts. He grew up in Virginia alongside his sisters, Frances Lotts Clarke and Vicki Lotts Pace, in a family that would help shape the man he became. As a young man, Dad answered the call to serve his country and became a United States Marine. A United States Marine Corps veteran who served during the Vietnam War era, he carried that identity with pride throughout his life. Though he rarely centered conversations on his service, it remained an important part of who he was. After returning home, Dad built a life centered around family, friendship, and hard work. For most of my life, he worked as a long-distance truck driver. The road became a familiar part of his story. He spent years driving countless miles, often far from home, doing what he needed to do to provide for the people he loved. He worked for companies such as Fox Bakery, Rawlings Brothers, Grayson Mitchell, and finally P&S. His life was marked by perseverance.

After suffering a devastating fall from a tractor-trailer, Dad broke his neck and faced the possibility of paralysis. What followed were months of rehabilitation, physical therapy, and determination. Through sheer stubbornness and hard work, he recovered and continued forward. That resilience was part of who he was. Dad was married to Brenda Harrell Lotts, and together they built a family that became the center of his world.

He is survived by his wife, Brenda; his daughter, Rebecca Wetherington and husband Todd Wetherington; his son, Jerry Dale Lotts Jr.; and his daughter, Alisha Lee. He is also survived by his grandson, Dylan Wetherington, his sister Vicki, his best friend Dave Wood, nieces and nephews, and many extended family members, friends, and loved ones. He was preceded in death by his parents and his sister, Frances.

Those are the facts of Dad’s life. But they don’t tell you who he was. Dad took care of people. His family. His friends. Anyone he considered one of his own. If you were in his circle, you knew he was there. You knew you could call him. You knew he’d help if he could. I know that because I called my Dad for everything. Some of my favorite memories of him are not the major milestones. They’re the things he built. When Jerry (Jr.) was growing up, Dad hung a tire swing in our backyard. He later started building us a treehouse, or maybe more accurately, a raised deck among the trees. We never quite finished it, but even unfinished it felt impressive. Dad had a way of looking at an idea and deciding to make it real. The stairs he built for that project still exist. I’ve held onto them all these years. Recently, I decided I wanted to turn them into planter stands to lean against my house. The first thought that crossed my mind was that I needed help cutting them in half. My instinct was the same one I’ve had my entire life: Call Dad. There are so many moments like that. Not emergencies. Not life-changing decisions. Just ordinary moments when I needed advice, help, an opinion, a tool, or someone who knew how to do something I didn’t. For most of my life, that person was my dad. Dad was also endlessly curious about the world. He loved the supernatural, the paranormal, and stories about things that lived just beyond certainty. He believed in Bigfoot. He enjoyed mysteries that couldn’t quite be explained. If you’ve ever wondered where my fascination with folklore, cryptids, ghosts, and strange stories comes from, the answer is simple: I got it from my dad. He taught me that the world is more interesting when you leave room for wonder. One of the gifts I didn’t realize I was receiving at the time was my final visit with him. The day before he died, I took a day trip to Emporia to visit a friend. Before heading home, I decided to drive up to Jarratt for a quick visit with Dad. He wasn’t feeling well. He complained of neck and arm pain and said he felt lightheaded. During our visit, he got up twice to lie down and rest. At the time, it felt like one of many days when he wasn’t feeling his best. What I didn’t know was that it would be the last time I would ever see him. Today, through all the grief, I am grateful that I made that drive. As I’ve looked through photographs today, I see a husband, a father, a grandfather, a Marine, a truck driver, a survivor, and a friend. But mostly, I see my dad. I see the man who showed up. The man who built things. The man who took care of people. The man I called when I needed help. The man who helped shape who I became. My father lived a life defined by service, perseverance, loyalty, curiosity, and love for his family. I was fortunate enough to be his daughter. I love you, Dad. And I will miss you for the rest of my life. 

It was J. D. 's request to have no formal service at his death but to remember him as he was.