In the early morning of August 28, 2026, Michael “Mike” Saraceno passed away surrounded by the love and support of his family.

The son of Victor and Edith Saraceno, Mike earned his BS in physics from the University of New Hampshire and spent his career in quality assurance, ensuring that medical devices used in surgical procedures around the world were safe and effective.

Mike was an avid fisherman and active member of several rod and gun clubs. He loved vegetable gardening, cooking meatballs on Sundays while watching NFL football, using a chainsaw whenever the opportunity presented itself, and employing particularly creative language during his many DIY projects around the house.

Mike married his high school sweetheart, Kathryn (Zanella) Saraceno, and utterly adored her for all 57 years of their marriage (give or take a few loud discussions about leaving his clothes all over the house). Kathy was the love of his life, and anyone who knew Mike knew it.

But more than anything, Mike loved his family. Nothing brought him more joy than having everyone together, whether it was Friday pizza nights, family vacations, yard work, baseball games, track meets, trips to the shooting range, holiday parties, or simply sitting in the living room talking about the day. If his family was around him, Mike was happy.

Mike is survived by a family who cannot quite fathom a world without him: his wife, Kathy; his son, Michael Saraceno and his wife, Susan (Stetson) Saraceno, and their children, Daniel and Dylan Saraceno, of Mansfield; and his daughter, Kerrie Saraceno, and her children, Zanthius, Eban, and Accalia Collins, of Franklin; and his siblings, Brenda (Saraceno) Fannon and her husband, Jack, Carla (Saraceno) Bortolussi and her husband, Adam, Steve Saraceno and his wife, Kim, Victor Saraceno, and Leo Saraceno and his wife, Mary-Lou; as well as many nieces, nephews, and cousins.

He was Grandpa to five grandchildren who grew up knowing they could always call him, walk in the door without knocking, come borrow something, eat something, cry, sleep, or laugh, and he’d welcome them without questions.

His happiest moments were simple; holidays, pizza nights, meatball Sundays, projects that required five more trips to the hardware store, and the ordinary days when the people he loved were simply nearby.

Those ordinary days don't feel ordinary now.

Mike will live on in the stories his family tells, the traditions they continue, the things he taught them, and the countless moments when someone thinks, “Dad would know how to do this.”

And he probably would. He will be greatly missed and forever remembered.