Obituary for John Antony Miller
June 1, 1947 - November 5, 2025
John Antony Miller, 78, passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by his family and his beloved wife of 54 years, Ellie.
Born and raised in Liverpool, England, to Muriel Lamb and Edwin Miller, John’s life was shaped by intellect, creativity, and a deep compassion he often attributed to growing up alongside his three sisters—Wendy, Ruth, and Alison. From a young age, he was captivated by music. One of his earliest joys came when his father brought home a violin for ten shillings, a moment John later described as life-changing. He taught himself violin and guitar and became Concert Master in school. But the moment that truly transformed him came during a classroom listening session when Sibelius’ Second Symphony filled the room. He later said it was his first true “ah-ha” moment: the instant he realized how powerful and transcendent music could be. As a teenager, he taught himself piano, playing early R&B and even forming a small pop group with friends during The Beatles era. He, his sister Ruth, and his friends would sneak out to see The Beatles at the Cavern Club, a memory he cherished for the excitement and energy of those early days. At Exeter University, he threw himself into folk guitar, practicing until his fingers were nearly worn through and eventually helping run the university’s folk club, where music became both a passion and a community.
Alongside music, John developed a deep love for mathematics and physics, subjects he said he “never recovered from.” He was endlessly fascinated by how the universe worked and loved the way those disciplines revealed order and meaning in the world around him. After earning his degree from Exeter University, he initially hoped to become a social worker, but after a series of grueling interviews, he was told he was “too sensitive”—a comment that hurt at the time but would later feel like an affirmation of his deepest strengths. Unsure of his next step, he returned briefly to packing soap at Unilever, a job he often described as “soul-destroying,” until a small job posting changed the entire trajectory of his life. With no background in computers, he applied to be a computer operator and soon found himself standing in front of an IBM 360 mainframe. Within months, he had taught himself IBM assembly language and moved into systems programming. What began as an unexpected opportunity grew into a 50-year career in computer science—work he often described simply as “playing all day.”
John found his greatest joy when he met Ellie, the love of his life. He adored her completely. Their marriage was a true partnership—steady, kind, and full of devotion. Everyone who knew them could see how deeply he loved her. She was always at the center of his world, the person he cherished above all else. For more than fifty years, he sang to her, from lullabies at night to love songs at their 50th wedding anniversary celebration. To watch them together was to see love in its purest form. Their love became the unshakable foundation of the family they built together, an example that will guide their family for generations to come.
Music was woven through every part of John’s life. He played the piano and guitar for his family, and his music didn’t just fill their home, it became their home. Every note carried warmth and tenderness, wrapping them in the sound of who he was. His tastes were wide-ranging and full of heart: from classical symphonies, opera, and ballet to folk, pop, and musical theater. He found beauty in every kind of song, and sharing that beauty became a lasting part of his legacy. Some of the most treasured memories his children hold are of him playing for them—quiet moments at the piano, the gentle rhythms of his guitar, the songs he loved and the ones he made his own. He also loved playing in the Christmas bell choir, delighted by the simple joy of creating something beautiful with others. For John, music was never just a hobby; it was a gift he gave freely, a language of love that will echo in his family’s hearts forever.
That same creativity found another outlet in his writing. John was creative in every sense of the word, and writing became another way he explored the things he loved most: faith, heritage, goodness, and the wonder of the universe. He wrote four novels, including the Shaylae Trilogy (Shaylae of the Gentle Heart, Hauron of the Eleven, and The Seed of Gadianton), a story that blended Navajo culture, science, spirituality, and the fight between light and darkness. He also authored Elita, a deeply personal novel inspired by Ellie. Though the story takes place in Northern Ireland, the heart of the character came from Ellie–her goodness, her strength, and her instinct to choose compassion even when life presents impossible choices. Whether he was writing about distant planets, ancient holy ones, or a young girl discovering her own bravery, John wrote with his whole heart.
Faith also meant a great deal to John. As a devoted member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, his testimony became a steady anchor throughout his life. He was raised Methodist, listening to his father preach and kneeling beside his grandmother as she offered long, heartfelt prayers that left a lasting impression on him. His understanding of faith evolved throughout his life, shaped by conversations with family, by sacred music, by thoughtful reflection, and especially by Ellie’s quiet, constant example. John valued both science and belief, seeing no contradiction between the two. He found meaning in the complexity of the natural world, the order of creation, and the way music could move the soul. His favorite calling was serving as the Primary chorister, where his love of music and his quiet warmth came together naturally.
John’s reflective nature also shaped the way he and Ellie explored the world. From the early years of their marriage as they moved from England to Canada, then to New Jersey, and eventually to Utah, they often felt the weight of being far from extended family, but they faced each new place together and relied on one another. Wherever they lived, they sought out new places to explore together. After moving to Utah, they quickly realized how beautiful it was and bought a small tent trailer so they could see more of the state. As the years went on and their family grew, they upgraded to a larger trailer and began taking their grandchildren on camping trips as well. They loved packing a simple lunch and driving into the mountains, often stopping beside a river to read and talk. They spent years exploring Utah’s beauty, driving scenic backroads, visiting national parks, and seeking out peaceful places to enjoy the view. They also traveled widely, returning to England and Canada to see family and spending long visits in Hawaii, Spain, and San Diego to visit their children and grandchildren there. For John and Ellie, travel was always about being together and sharing the experience with the people they loved.
For all the places John loved to see, home was always his favorite place to be. He loved watching his big family gathered together—the laughter, the energy, the joy of it all. He often grew emotional seeing how much love there was between his children. He was so proud that they not only loved one another but were truly friends. His grandchildren were the light of his life, and he cherished every moment spent with them. His family was his greatest joy and the legacy he was most proud of.
In the face of a long battle with cancer and a rapidly progressing Parkinsonism, John’s humor, gratitude, and love for his family never wavered. When he learned of his diagnosis, he reassured his children with characteristic grace, reminding them that life was still good and that love was what mattered most. He urged them to cherish their differences, remain united, and love one another “as God loves us all—unconditionally, come what may.” With quiet faith and a twinkle of humor, he promised that in the eternities, he and Ellie would “come to get” their family—every one of them! It was both comfort and conviction, a reflection of the enduring love that defined his life.
John believed deeply in kindness. “Be kind to others,” he often said. “Remember that everyone is carrying a burden.” He was thoughtful and humble, a man who left the world a little better through the gentleness he carried.
The family wishes to express heartfelt gratitude to the hospice nurses whose gentle, attentive care brought comfort and peace to John in his final weeks, allowing him to remain at home and at ease. They also offer sincere thanks to the oncologists and caregivers at the Huntsman Cancer Institute, whose skill and unwavering dedication supported him for more than a decade. Their efforts extended his life far beyond early expectations and gave his family years of precious time together.
He is survived by his wife and best friend, Ellie Miller; his nine children: Sally Cannon (Thomas), Timothy Miller (Angela), Emma Terry-Miller (Tanya), Alison Caputo (Daniel), Jeremy Miller (Autumn), Mary Taylor (Zachary), Nicholas Miller (Brooke), Hannah Richins (Landon), and Joseph Miller (Lorena); his sisters Wendy Moorin, Ruth Bacon, and Alison Lewis; along with twenty-six grandchildren: Savannah (Dallin), Sydney (Caden), Zachary, Summer, Chelsea, Zoey, Atlie, Macie, Elliott, Sahalie, Bodhi, Saylor, Michael, Eowyn, Layla, Avery, Landon (Saane), Jolene, Katelyn, John, Evelyn, Jude, Charlie, Theodore, Ivy, and James; and four great-grandchildren: Sophie, Liliani, Mele, and Luke, who all adored their Pops.
John’s life was a beautiful symphony of love, faith, and family—a legacy that will echo through generations.
“In my life, I love you more.”
***
My cousin Sally, I think it was two nights before he died, posted pics of all of the siblings gathered around her Dad, and a pic of the sisters, the brothers, her kids. The pictures were shared in her stories on Facebook and Instagram. It looked like he was going to die any minute. Earlier this fall I had a long phone chat with Ellie, and then we scheduled a zoom call with Mom and CJ. That was the last time I talked to John. He didn't say a whole lot on that zoom call. I'm so thankful that I saw him at Tim's in the summer when I was in Utah. I wasn't particularly close to my Uncle John, I talked to Ellie more but goodness I love my cousins so much and always loved the times I visited their home growing up. He had been battling prostate cancer for years and his life was relatively stable, until it wasn't. Further testing revealed an aggressive form of Parkinson's. The doctor had said he'd have about 6 months. He had 3 I think?
These next photos are all taken from Facebook. Hannah posted the pics from the funeral.
The funeral was set for November 22 and I invited Mom and CJ to come over and watch the funeral with me, so they did. It was really sweet, for most of the funeral Milo was cuddled right up to Mom.
Tim spoke.
Hannah spoke.
Jeremy spoke.
Not pictured, Sally said a prayer, Lorena said a prayer, Emma read the obituary, two of Jeremy's kids sang a song called "You Say" by a Christian singer named Lauren Daigle. I think I'll post the lyrics below, because they're really beautiful, and if I'm remembering correctly, John struggled with his worth, and he wanted his kids and his grandkids to know of their worth, so the song meant a lot to all of them.
Mom has been sad and reflective. She's had Ellie in her thoughts lots. Mom hadn't seen her brother in person since 2019 when we all travelled to Utah. There was talk of John and Ellie coming to visit, but it just never came together. In September when Ellie reached out to let us know that John was getting closer to the end, CJ and Mom started talking about going to Utah to visit, but then Mom fell and broke her arm and that was a lot so the trip never happened.
Today felt very sacred and tender. I'm grateful for temple covenants. I'm grateful for Jesus Christ, and I'm beyond grateful that families can be together forever. I am grateful that John and Ellie are sealed.
OH! And I forgot some family lore. My Mom always took so much pleasure in reminding her brother that she introduced him to his beloved Ellie. Mom was her Laurel advisor in Young Women's. I think Ellie was 17 when she and John met, after advice from my Mom that this was indeed John's wife.
I'm so grateful that Mom was able to come over today and we could watch the funeral together. Suzanne and Jon were there in person. I thought for half a minute that I wanted to go too, but the primary presentation is tomorrow, and well, life, it just wasn't meant to be. I'm grateful for technology so that we could watch it.
A few more photos. These are from a post from Facebook again. Hannah, the second youngest is born on June 1st which is John's birthday too. They shared this last birthday together in this life this year and I know that will be such a special memory for Hannah.
This is the photo that Hannah posted to announce his passing.
I labelled this photo for Mom and CJ - it's from John's 70th surprise birthday party, eight years ago. The kids had a huge party for him. I figure this labelled photo is useful.
You Say (Music and Lyrics by Lauren Daigle, and four others)
I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I'm not enough
Every single lie that tells me I will never measure up
Am I more than just the sum of every high and every low?
Remind me once again just who I am because I need to know
Ooh-oh
You say I am loved when I can't feel a thing
You say I am strong when I think I am weak
And you say I am held when I am falling short
And when I don't belong, oh, You say I am Yours
And I believe (I), oh, I believe (I)
What You say of me (I)
I believe
The only thing that matters now is everything You think of me
In You, I find my worth, in You, I find my identity
Ooh-oh
You say I am loved when I can't feel a thing
You say I am strong when I think I am weak
And you say I am held when I am falling short
When I don't belong, oh, You say I am Yours
And I believe (I), oh, I believe (I)
What You say of me (I)
Oh, I believe
Taking all I have, and now I'm laying it at Your feet
You have every failure, God, You have every victory
Ooh-oh
You say I am loved when I can't feel a thing
You say I am strong when I think I am weak
You say I am held when I am falling short
When I don't belong, oh, You say I am Yours
And I believe (I), oh, I believe (I)
What You say of me (I)
I believe
Oh, I believe (I)
Yes, I believe (I)
What You say of me (I)
I believe
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
