Hospital Anecdote (reference to Lazarus): 
Four weeks before he actually passed, we thought we were saying goodbye to Noah. After internal bleeding and complications from his cancer, Noah was admitted to the ICU at UAB Hospital, a hospital he had visited countless times during his treatments. He was in a coma, on a ventilator, and his blood pressure was dangerously low and unstable. Every indication, including from his doctors, told us that the end was very near. Then, on the 4th day of his coma, something extraordinary happened. As his oldest daughter Lily sat by his bedside, holding his hand and talking to his lifeless appearing body, he opened his eyes and focused on her. She asked “Dad, can you see me” and to her amazement he nodded his head yes. In that single moment, despair gave way to hope. And we suddenly had the ability to tell Noah everything we had been wanting so desperately to say. Over the next week, Noah continued to grow stronger. Against all expectations, he improved enough to leave the ICU and come home on hospice where we were blessed with two additional weeks of time together that we never expected to have. Because Noah had “awoken” on the fourth day of his hospitalization, his brother in law, Chris, began affectionately referring to him as “Lazarus.” It was a fitting nickname. Like Lazarus, Noah had been given back to us when we thought we had already lost him. We knew that his illness had not been cured, but we were given one final priceless gift, more time. Time to hold his hand so tightly, time to let him rest in his own warm bed at home, time for his wife and kids to share meals with him and reminisce about days past, time to laugh and cry, and time to say the things that mattered most. Noah was deeply loved by all that knew him. And we wanted him to feel that love again before saying our goodbyes. God afforded us that chance.

And because he wanted to be here for us, he rallied. Even when his illness weakened him physically and mentally, the second a friend or family member walked through the door, his energy and appetite surged. He would light up, ready to talk about their shared hobbies, old memories, and love for each other. 
Noah accepted God as his Savior years ago, and believed in the resurrection of Jesus Christ and eternity in Heaven. Although he wanted to continue to live, he professed he had no fear towards the end of his life.  He preferred the quiet calm reverence of a traditional church service, and he fully intended to be back in the pews once he got stronger. 
Noah’s legacy is most alive today in his four children, in the music they listen to, and in the grandbaby on the way who will grow up hearing stories of a legendary grandfather. He showed us how to live with resilience in the face of difficulty and how to have true grit. And when his final hour arrived, he showed us how to leave this world with absolute strength and professing of so much love. We find peace in knowing that Noah’s battle has been won. 

Some Scriptures: 
2 Timothy 4:7-8 “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of rightenousness.” This one reminds me of Noah’s eight month battle with cancer, his grit, and his acceptance at the final hour. 
Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters.”  This one makes me think of Noah’s deep connection to the outdoors.

Noah was a man of true grit, boundless creativity, and a heart completely devoid of judgment. He was a man that could talk to anyone. He never met a stranger. If he loved you, he told you – loudly and often. He found joy in the simplest and most rugged places: the freedom of riding a motorcycle on the open road in his younger years and recently in his 50’s, the scenic landscape of the Cheaha mountains or any other hiking trail, and the crackle of a campfire he helped his kids build. 
He was an avid music lover. He didn’t just listen to music, he lived it, he believed songs could take you anywhere. He began attending music shows and collecting records as a young kid, with a special love for punk rock music and more recently indie artists from New Zealand. He has passed down a diverse lifelong love of music to his four children. 
Noah was a creator and a craftsman. When he wanted to learn something, he just did it. He taught himself to work with leather, crafting motorcycle seats, knife sheaths, gun holsters, and journals (these will be on display on his display table). He took tree stumps from our backyard and carved them into kitchen spoons (also on display). He had the ability to take the rough raw pieces of the world and shape them into something beautiful. 
For eight months, Noah fought a cancer diagnosis with a fierce inspiring will to live. He had so much he still wanted to do. He wanted to watch his youngest daughters graduate high school in 4-5 years. He wanted to hold his very first grandchild, a baby girl named Meredith, who is expected in August. He wanted to take one more hike or be on a lake in a kayak or canoe with his wife and kids by his side. He wanted to travel to and see the only other country he’s ever dreamed about, New Zealand.

Purple onion! Dad got a $32 baked potato and it was worth every penny.

She kicked his hand so hard here, she wanted to say hello.

Leaving the hospital and had to stop for starbies!

I will always love you.  You are my family.  Thank you for being a part of my life for the majority of my life.

Heather Fails

OBITUARY

Noah Adam Dillard

March 25, 1971 – June 25, 2026

Johns-Ridout's Mortuary-Elmwood Chapel & Elmwood Cemetery & Mausoleum

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