My Dad's Passing

In [Christ] the hope of blessed resurrection has dawned, that those saddened by the certainty of dying might be consoled by the promise of immortality to come. Indeed for your faithful, Lord, life is changed not ended, and, when this earthly dwelling turns to dust, an eternal dwelling is made ready for them in heaven
(The Roman Missal)

Hi Everyone,

As many of you already know, my dad, Tom Brundage, suddenly passed away in July.¹ Losing him has been by far the most painful thing that’s ever happened to me - a life changing level of suffering.

Coming up to a month out from when he passed, the shock and adrenaline has worn off. The frenzied and unrelenting stream of tasks, conversations, and activities has subsided. I’m dealing with my dad’s death in something resembling a normal routine and state of mind. I’m learning that I’m at diminished capacity, and that some days will be easier and some days will be harder.

I’ve started writing a memoir style reflection about my experience of my dad’s passing. So far I really like it. Rich, engrossing, and vulnerable, it has a chance to become one of the best and most creatively fulfilling things I’ve ever written. With the added bonus that it’s helping me process my memories and emotions, it’s something I’m determined to keep working on and that I’m eager to share.

But right now it’s more than I can chew mentally or emotionally - certainly not something I can finish today. It will probably have to be divided into at least two parts. I also suspect that I could use some more time to process things. And I’m not even a hundred percent sure I’ll end up sharing it at all. I think taking some extra time rather than rushing it out just because I haven’t posted in a while is the best decision.

So for now I will simply give this brief tribute to my dad.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus says:

Amen, Amen I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be. The Father will honor whoever serves me.

My dad’s passing has matched this passage beat for beat. He lived an incredible life. The bittersweet reality is that had he survived for the (at least) fifteen to twenty years I am still shocked to no longer have with him, no one would have been able to fully appreciate just how amazing he was. His witness of ordinary holiness, dedicated love, and selfless service would have been taken for granted.

Although I’m sure everyone who knew Tom wishes they had appreciated him more, it isn’t entirely our fault that we didn’t. In the fog of every day normalcy, we so easily fall into the illusion that life will stay the same forever, and that we will always have our loved ones with us. And my dad’s life was so hidden, unassuming, and devoid of any desire for credit and recognition that the full picture of his impact was spread out across countless isolated pockets of awareness and gratitude. Had my dad not been uprooted, none of us would have had an inkling of just how extensive his root system was.

But in this tragedy our family, friends, neighbors, and multiple church communities were brought together to receive an awe inspiring presentation of the life he lived.

After his funeral mass, the funeral director told us that he’d been to over 2000 funerals, and that this one had been the most powerful. It was an immense outpouring of love and grace. My sister knocked it out of the park with a brave, creative, and heartfelt eulogy. Our priest gave an inspiring tribute to my dad while also giving a compelling, substantive, and evangelistic portrait of the Christian life my dad lived so faithfully. Even the dove release ceremony (which certain incidents during my parish internship had taught me to grit my teeth and hold my breath for!)² was touching and poignant.

God permits countless others like him to leave this life in obscurity. My dad got the fireworks show he deserved. God gave my dad the eighteen minute guitar solo he would have strenuously objected to and which none of us would have thought to give him.

From the moment my dad fell to the ground and died, he has been bearing fruit. I have never been able to give and receive love so freely and sincerely with so many people. I have never been able to see and appreciate more clearly the things that truly matter in life. The amount of healing I’ve experienced and witnessed, the number of relationships rekindled, the reconciliation I’ve seen, the breakthrough which has occurred. It is all fully outside of what I previously considered realistic.

I think the greatest quality of my dad was how truly selfless he was in giving. Overall my dad and I had a good relationship, but we had our moments. I’m sad to say that there were more than a few times where he could have played the ‘if that’s how you’re going to be, don’t expect anything from me!’ card. When our kindness and sacrifice is met with nastiness and ingratitude, the human response is to stop giving, and to try to take back what we have already given.

My dad’s response, empowered by the supernatural life he lived through is walk with God, was to keep loving. He set boundaries where he thought he needed to. But he never used his generosity for leverage. His love was a gift, not a bargaining chip. There were no conditions, no hidden price tags, no strings, no expectations of reward or future favors.

The last time I was with my Dad was at a family barbecue before my silent retreat. We went on a short bike ride together on a picture perfect June evening. I hadn’t seen him since the previous August. I felt so comfortable around him, so happy to be spending time with him, and so grateful for the total absence of tension and distance that had plagued us in years past.

“Dad I’m so glad to be here. When I get home from my retreat I want to come visit.”

Every day I encounter new layers to my loss, and new layers to what my dad meant to me. I never got to have that summer visit I was hoping for. But I will always be grateful that this family outing is my last and now most treasured memory of him while he was alive.

Although he has died, everything about the way things have unfolded (good and bad, beautiful and heartbreaking) has shown me that life is more than mere atoms and brain function. I do not know why my dad died, I certainly don’t have any answer worth anything for anyone who is going through their own loss. All of the bereaved must pass through this dark valley of cruel tragedy. There is no easier way. No explanation or turn of phrase that can make sense of all of this or take the pain in your heart away.

But for me, Jesus has been my great guiding light. If there is any part of you that suspects that prayer is more than just nice thoughts and wishful thinking, I can’t recommend it enough. Why not try it? It has added a richness and joy to my good days, and it has carried me through my most difficult days. My dad was the first to show me this beautiful path, and for the rest of my life he will be leading me down it.

1. You can read his obituary here. If experience and family loss and you live in the vicinity of Pinckney, Howell, or Brighton, you owe it to yourself to use their services.

2. If you are that funeral home employee and you’ve somehow found this piece and figured out that I’m writing about you, please know that I’m half joking here! Your way of conducting the ceremony is not my cup of tea. I personally find it corny and distracting. But many other people have found it meaningful and healing. I’m grateful that you helped them in their grief, and to you for dedicating your life to serving people in the midst of loss. You’re a good man.