Brandon Joseph Christ, 41, of Warrensburg, Missouri, died unexpectedly on August 14, 2026. His sudden death has left an immeasurable absence in a family, circle of friends, and community that expected to have many more years with him.

But no account of Brandon's life should begin and end with the tragedy of its brevity. In 41 years, Brandon built a life overflowing with family, friendship, laughter, service, accomplishment, and love. He was a devoted husband and father, a beloved son and brother, a loyal friend, an educator and social worker, a coach, a community advocate, and quite possibly the funniest person anyone who loved him had ever known. Above everything else, Brandon was a family man. He loved his wife, Kristen, with all his heart and proudly called her the "love of my life." He was loving, generous, attentive, and deeply proud of the life and family they created together. Their children, Claire, 7, and Sebastian "Sebi," 5, were the center of his world. From the moment he woke up until he went to sleep, their health, happiness, and future were his greatest priorities.

Brandon's wife, Kristen, first came to understand one of Brandon's defining gifts by watching him work. When she shadowed him professionally as coworkers, she saw how naturally he created relationships built on trust, humor, and warmth. His clients adored him, and even in the sometimes somber world of mental health work, Brandon could make a morning meeting lighter. That same quality drew Kristen to him when they began dating. Brandon had a way of making ordinary life feel more fun. He listened to her old CDs, burned CDs for her, and soon the two were making mixed CDs for each other in an old-fashioned tradition they both loved. When Brandon turned 30, Kristen filled a gift bag marked "30" with some of his favorite things. When Kristen reached 30, Brandon returned the same bag to her. For years afterward, they simply crossed out the old number and wrote the new one: 31, 32, 33. It became one of those small traditions that belonged entirely to them.

Kristen often said that Brandon brought out a younger, more joyful part of her that she thought she had lost. Behind his constant joking was someone deeply sensitive and emotional, a man who cared intensely about the people he loved. He had a particular gift for putting that love into words. Brandon regularly left Kristen handwritten notes and drawings, often without any special occasion, and somehow knew exactly what to write to reach her heart. He remembered birthdays and anniversaries and treated them not as dates on a calendar but as opportunities to make Kristen feel loved. Kristen always knew that Brandon was there for her, just as he was there for everything their children needed. The two remained in almost constant contact throughout their days, sharing the ordinary details of life along with words of love, humor, and encouragement. One of the sweetest records of that connection was their 3,884 day Snapchat streak, something they were genuinely proud to have maintained together for more than ten years. Since Brandon's death, Kristen has continued sending those messages, and the count has now passed 3,889 days. She is not ready to let go of a tradition that, for more than a decade, meant there was always one more little message waiting between them.

At night, before they went to sleep, Brandon would place his hand on her chest and say a prayer over her because he wanted her protected. It was a quiet ritual that captured something essential about the way he loved: tenderly, deliberately, and always with concern for the person beside him. Their marriage was also full of shared adventures and carefully protected time together. They loved concerts, particularly seeing the bands that had soundtracked their younger years, as well as soccer games, trips to the City Market, and simply watching soccer together. Brandon took pride in planning special date nights for Kristen. He did not merely suggest going out; he arranged the childcare, packed the children's bags, handled the details, and made sure the two of them could step away from everyday responsibilities and enjoy being together. Those gestures, both large and small, reflected what Kristen treasured most about life with Brandon. He was playful and romantic, attentive and sentimental, and he never stopped finding ways to remind her that their life together was something worth celebrating.

Brandon did not simply tell his children that he loved them. He built his days around showing them. He coached their soccer teams, attended the annual daddy daughter dance with Claire, took the family camping, rode bicycles with them, watched them play in the pool, sang songs with them, played Roblox with them, roasted hot dogs and marshmallows around the backyard firepit, and took them on family adventures. He could make something as ordinary as driving over railroad tracks into an event, counting down "5, 4, 3, 2, 1" with the kids before everyone yelled "weee" as his big white truck crossed the tracks. He constantly told Claire and Sebi how proud he was of them. To Brandon, they were smart, confident, brave, and capable of anything. He liked to tell them that they were so extraordinary they would someday have to take turns being President of the United States when they grew up. At bedtime, he kissed his children goodnight and told them, "See you when the sun comes up." That was Brandon. Love was not an idea to him. It was something practiced through ordinary moments, every day.

Brandon also paid close attention to who his children were becoming and took joy in nurturing whatever captured their interest. When he saw how much Sebi loved building, engineering, and figuring out how things worked, Brandon filled his world with building toys and engineering games. Perhaps the greatest evidence of Brandon's devotion came in the backyard. For a man who took immense pride in maintaining a lush, immaculate lawn, Brandon willingly cleared a section of his prized grass so Sebi could dig to his heart's content with a toy bulldozer. Sebi proceeded to excavate some impressive holes. Rather than worrying about the lawn, Brandon loved watching him do it. His children's curiosity mattered more to him than keeping anything perfect.

There was almost nothing Brandon would not do for his children. When Claire, whom he affectionately called "Cheepy," once misplaced her cherished teddy bear, "Mommy Bear," Brandon turned finding her into a mission. He drove all over town, retraced their steps, and talked to seemingly everyone he could find. Hours later, he finally tracked Mommy Bear down and brought her home to Claire. It was a small moment, but it captured something enormous about the kind of father Brandon was. If something mattered to Claire or Sebi, it mattered to him, and he did not give up on them. Whether the problem was a missing teddy bear or something much bigger, his children knew their dad would keep looking, keep working, and keep showing up. Brandon never stopped being their unwavering protector and provider, and there was no distance he would not go for their happiness.

On the night Brandon died, one of the last things he did was celebrate his children. Claire and Sebi had just learned who their teachers would be for the new school year, and both had gotten exactly the teachers they had been hoping for. The whole family was excited, and Brandon wanted to make the moment feel special. He came home with a surprise dinner from Wendy's, bringing Frosties and treats for Kristen and the kids so they could celebrate together. It was such a simple, loving act, but it captured Brandon perfectly. When his children were happy, he wanted to share in that happiness, encourage it, and make it even bigger. Even in the final hours of his life, Brandon was doing what he had always done: paying attention to what mattered to Claire and Sebi, celebrating their joy, and finding one more way to show his family how deeply they were loved.

Brandon was also the family assembler of things, whether or not he had volunteered for the position. Over the years, he put together playhouses, battery operated cars, trampolines, pools, and more toys than anyone could reasonably remember. A box might promise a simple assembly, but somewhere along the way Brandon would inevitably announce one of his familiar sayings: "Nothing's ever simple." Instructions that appeared to require twenty minutes could somehow consume an afternoon. When a project became particularly ambitious, he often called Stephen for backup, and the brothers would work through it together. The frustration was temporary. What mattered to Brandon was the moment Claire or Sebi finally saw what had been built for them and the happiness it brought.

He was deeply involved in the details of their lives because their interests became his interests. If Claire or Sebi became excited about something, Brandon wanted to understand it, encourage it, and help make it possible. He did not approach fatherhood from a distance. He was on the floor assembling the toy, on the sideline coaching the team, in the backyard making room for a construction site, in the audience at an event, or beside them turning an ordinary day into something they would remember.

He brought that same devotion to the family from which he came. The son of Leonard and Sandy Christ, Brandon was born in Chicago and grew up in Brownsville, Texas, and Warrensburg, Missouri. For 41 years, he gave his parents countless reasons to be proud, through his education and career, certainly, but even more through the kind of son he became. The family life he experienced growing up profoundly influenced the husband and father he became. He admired his parents and consciously tried to give Claire and Sebi the same sense of security, tradition, fun, and unconditional love that he had known as a child.

Brandon looked up to his father, Leonard, and admired the example he had set as a provider and role model. As Brandon built a family of his own, he tried to offer Kristen, Claire, and Sebi the same dependability and devotion that he had seen in his dad. Father and son also shared asurprisingly serious passion for maintaining a pristine lawn. When Brandon still lived at home, he and Leonard would actually compete to see who could get outside and mow the grass first,effectively cutting off Stephen from lawn duty altogether. After Brandon bought a home of his own, the competition simply expanded to two yards. Leonard and Brandon compared lawn carenotes, exchanged advice, playfully competed for the unofficial title of best lawn, and even shared an enthusiasm for watching YouTube videos of neglected and overgrown lawns being transformed. Their relationship was especially evident during Leonard's cancer treatment.

Brandon supported his father throughout 43 radiation treatments, often driving him to and from the treatments in Independence before returning to his regular workday. On August 1, 2025, when Leonard completed treatment, rang the bell, and was declared cancer free, Brandon was there to cheer, hug, and celebrate with him. It was characteristic of the son Brandon was. When someone he loved faced something difficult, he showed up.

His mother, Sandy, shaped Brandon in equally lasting ways. Brandon tried to recreate for his own children many of the things he treasured about growing up. Sandy had always documented family life through photographs and videos, preserving birthdays, vacations, holidays, celebrations, and ordinary moments. Brandon inherited that instinct. He took countless pictures and videos of Kristen, Claire, and Sebi because he understood, as his mother did, that everyday family life was worth remembering. Sandy also gave Brandon a lifelong love of music. Some of his cherished childhood memories came from family road trips with his mom and dad while listening to Juan Gabriel's greatest hits. That musical influence remained with him throughout his life and became part of an eclectic collection of favorites that crossed languages, generations, and genres. Through his mother's side of the family, Brandon grew up bilingual in English and Spanish. That gift remained an important connection to his family and heritage, but it also became a way he could serve others. Throughout his professional life, Brandon regularly usedSpanish to communicate with people and families who needed help, allowing him to make them feel understood and welcomed. Brandon also grew up dancing with his mother, at home and at weddings, parties, and family celebrations. As a father, he continued that tradition with his own children. He danced with Claire, including at their annual daddy daughter dances, and shared that joy with Sebi as well. Just two days before Brandon died, Sebastian attended his first dance class. In that small continuity, one of the traditions Sandy had given her son was already being carried into another generation.

He also maintained an extraordinarily close relationship with his grandmother, Araceli Vela and his Aunt Marlene, Aunt Jazmin, Uncle Tim, and Uncle Charlie. Since childhood, Brandon had greeted his grandmother with the same unmistakable enthusiasm, calling out a loud and affectionate, "Haaaay, Welita!" whenever he saw or spoke with her, a greeting that became one of the many small rituals of their lifelong bond. Brandon was also deeply shaped by an extended family that was unusually close. His Aunt Jazmin and Uncle Tim were part of his life from childhood, when they all lived together in Texas and Jazmin and Tim were the young, fun aunt and uncle who often took Brandon to and from school. That closeness continued throughout hislife. Years later, Jazmin and Tim served as the DJs at Brandon and Kristen's wedding reception, something that made Brandon especially proud because the celebration felt even more like afamily affair. Brandon continued visiting Jazmin and Tim in San Antonio with Kristen and the children during annual summer road trips. Those visits meant great food, long evenings together, barbecue, stories, and music. Uncle Tim would play the ukulele and sing with Aunt Jazmin, and some of those songs became so familiar to Brandon that he would later find himself humming them long after the visits were over.

His family also remembers with deep love his Aunt Marlene, who died in 2024 and who had been a constant presence in Brandon's life. Marlene frequently watched Brandon and Stephenwhile they were growing up, and some of their most ordinary after school routines became lasting family memories because of her. She would make them macaroni and cheese, shell soup, or estrellas, and then, in what was a very Marlene combination of care and challenge, give the boys math quizzes to complete for fun. She graded their work, offered rewards, and turned learning into part of the rhythm of everyday family life. Brandon was a gifted student, especially in math, and his family always recognized that Marlene's encouragement and playful insistence on keeping his mind sharp helped nurture the confidence and discipline that would follow him through school and into adulthood.

His relationship with his Uncle Charlie (Carlos) was built around a different family tradition: relentless joking and an annual effort to prove that Uncle Charlie was not quite as strong as everyone knew he was. Brandon challenged him to arm wrestling matches whenever the opportunity presented itself. For years, Uncle Charlie maintained a perfect record. Then, during what became the most important match in family arm wrestling history, Stephen saw an opening, placed his hand on top of Brandon's, and the brothers joined forces to finally push Uncle Charlie's hand to the table. Brandon and Stephen celebrated their first and only victory with considerably more pride than was probably warranted by the fact that it had taken two grown men to defeat one uncle.

Brandon also treasured the time he spent with his Aunt Deb and Uncle Russ. Some of his favorite childhood and teenage memories came from the family's annual summer fishing trips to Canada with Deb, Russ, Aunt Rose, and the rest of the family. They would spend an entire week in the remote Canadian wilderness fishing, talking around the campfire, and enjoying the kind of uninterrupted family time that became harder to find as everyone grew older. There was also the persistent possibility of encountering a bear, a feature of wilderness life that Brandon regarded with considerably less enthusiasm than the fishing. Uncle Russ also gave Brandon some of his earliest experience tackling major home projects. Brandon fondly remembered helping him build and paint an entire deck, an experience that gave him confidence that he could take on repairs and renovations himself. That confidence stayed with him as an adult and homeowner, even if some projects inevitably led to Brandon announcing his familiar conclusion that "nothing's ever easy."

Aunt Rose was part of many of those Canadian adventures as well as countless holidays and family celebrations over the years. Those gatherings also meant time with Brandon's paternal grandmother, Rita, whom he affectionately called "Tita." Brandon and Stephen knew that visits with Tita usually included one particularly important tradition: the box of mint chocolate candy she would put out for the family. By the end of the visit, the brothers could generally be relied upon to have polished off the entire box. Aunt Rose also introduced Brandon to The Sims, a game he came to love while growing up and one of the earliest examples of what would become a lifelong enthusiasm for gaming.

These relationships mattered deeply to Brandon. His aunts, uncles, and grandparents were never simply relatives he saw occasionally. They were woven through his childhood, his holidays, his summers, his wedding, his family trips, his hobbies, and the stories he continued telling as an adult. The closeness of that extended family became part of the kind of life Brandon later worked to create for Claire and Sebi: one in which family meant showing up, laughing together, building traditions, and accumulating stories worth telling for the rest of your life.

And then there was his brother, Stephen. To call Brandon and Stephen brothers does not quite capture it. They were best friends who happened to be brothers. They were always together. As boys living in Texas, Brandon and Stephen spent their days exploring the world around them, chasing butterflies with glass bottles, wandering wherever their curiosity took them, and recreating the professional wrestling moves they watched on television. As teenagers in Warrensburg, they both got jobs at a local golf course and spent the next several years working alongside each other and two of their closest friends, Kenny Beck and Justin Garcia. Those years produced some of the wildest and funniest memories four teenage boys working together with no supervision could possibly create. Most of those stories are probably best preserved within the group rather than printed in an obituary, but they remained a source of laughter among Brandon, Stephen, Kenny, and Justin for the rest of Brandon's life.

Music became another adventure the brothers shared. Brandon was the drummer for the locally loved rock band Cantebury Tales, playing alongside Justin Garcia on bass and Stephen on guitar. The band became an enduring piece of their youth and of Warrensburg lore among the friends and fans who followed them. Two decades later, it is still common to see Brandon, Justin, Stephen, or even one of the band's longtime fans around town wearing a Cantebury Tales shirt with its prominent "CT" logo.

In truth, almost anything could become a competition between Brandon and Stephen. Tennis matches, grades, sports, fantasy football, jokes, and countless friendly bets all became opportunities for one brother to claim temporary superiority over the other. One of their most recent wagers ended badly for Brandon. Stephen won, and the terms required Brandon to bleach his hair blond to match his brother's. Brandon followed through, providing the family with photographic evidence that the competitive relationship between the two had survived completely intact into his forties.

They talked and spent time together literally every day. Each served as the other's best man. They started a nonprofit organization together to address needs in their community. They traveled throughout Missouri, Kansas, and Arkansas playing competitive tennis, and together they won multiple doubles championships. Mostly, though, they made each other laugh. Brandon and Stephen had a lifelong competition known as "Joke of the Day." Once one of them produced the biggest laugh from each other, their family, or whoever happened to be nearby, someone would declare it the "joke of the day," setting the standard the other had to beat. Brandon accumulated so many winners that the family eventually developed a kind of hall of fame, with his best jokes remembered, debated, and ranked.

He was extraordinarily difficult to beat. Brandon possessed that rare kind of humor that cannot be manufactured. He was quick, clever, original, and a gifted storyteller. He could find the funny thing in a situation almost instantly, and he used that gift generously. He wanted the people around him to laugh. He wanted them to feel better. His unmistakable grin could make people feel at ease before he had even said a word. His humor was part of something larger about him. Brandon was profoundly down to earth. He listened. He cared. He greeted people with warmth. He made people feel comfortable being themselves. Whether someone was family, a lifelong friend, a coworker, a client, or a person he had only recently met, Brandon had a remarkable ability to meet people without pretense.

Brandon and Stephen's closeness also gave Brandon another sibling in all but name. Brandon was there from the very beginning: the first time Marie came to Stephen's house while they were in high school, Brandon was the one who opened the door and welcomed her inside after letting Stephen know there was "some weirdo" there to see him. Marie and Brandon developed a friendship first based in humor, and a few years later when Brandon was in a near-fatal car accident, Marie spent considerable time with him and the rest of the family during his recovery. This experience brought Brandon, Stephen, and Marie even closer. Somewhere along the way, Brandon reached a conclusion about her that he felt compelled to share with his brother: Marie was the woman Stephen should marry. As usual, Brandon turned out to have a pretty good read on things.

Their friendship continued through Royals games in Kansas City with Stephen, family celebrations, countless jokes, and ordinary days together watching movies, playing tennis, and sharing meals.

As the years passed, Brandon and Marie's personalities challenged them to understand the world and each other in new ways. At their core, they really shared many of the same values and insecurities, and uncovering those things together made them think of each other not just as in-laws but as real brother and sister. He has been an irreplaceable part of her life for more than two decades and made her a more compassionate and light-hearted person. She had been expecting them to continue to challenge each other to be the best version of themselves for the next fifty years.

Especially on birthdays, Marie and Brandon always tried to make the other person feel seen and loved. For Brandon's 30th, Marie surprised him with 30 balloons, each with a different memory written by family members attached to its string. The final count, however, was only 29 after Leonard accidentally let one escape, a detail that immediately became part of the family mythology and was retold with considerable enthusiasm quite often. Only days before Brandon died, he was at Marie's birthday party, where the family played a Family Feud style game devoted entirely to questions about Marie. Brandon, unsurprisingly, supplied the funniest answers of the night. It was one more example of something he had been doing for Marie, Stephen, and the rest of his family for decades: showing up, making the occasion more fun simply by being there, and making the people he loved laugh.

Brandon's humanity shaped his professional life as well.

Brandon graduated from Warrensburg High School in 2003 and earned bachelor's degrees in both Criminal Justice and Sociology from the University of Central Missouri in 2008. He continued his education at the University of Arkansas, where he earned a master's degree in sociology and criminology in 2010 with honors. As a University of Arkansas student, he received the Mary Hudgins Graduate Fellowship. He later taught sociology in the Department of Sociology and Criminology at the University of Arkansas before building a career devoted to social services, including his work with Compass Health Network, where he served as the Supervisor of the Department of Employment Services.

For Brandon, education was never simply about credentials. He believed deeply in social justice and spent his working life helping people whose struggles could too easily remain invisible to others. He worked directly with people facing instability and hardship, helping them obtain resources, employment, housing, food, clothing, support, and opportunities for a fresh start. He listened without judgment and advocated for people who needed someone in their corner.

In this way, Brandon's profession reflected his faith. He was Catholic and a member of Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Warrensburg and the Knights of Columbus. He did not limit faith to what happened inside a church. He lived it through service, generosity, compassion, and his belief that every person deserved dignity.

His commitment to Warrensburg reached well beyond his profession. Brandon was a founding board member of the Warrensburg Community Tennis Association and spent years coaching soccer through Warrensburg Parks and Recreation, including teams on which Claire and Sebi played. He mentored coworkers, children, and others in his life, and he repeatedly gave his time to causes serving people who were vulnerable or underresourced.

For someone who accomplished so much, Brandon also knew how to enjoy wonderfully ordinary things.

He loved the Mexican National Soccer Team (El Tri) with an intensity known to everyone around him, and Manchester United was not far behind. Brandon's favorite number was 14, a number that carried two of his great loves at once: it was Kristen's birthday, and it was the jersey number worn by his favorite soccer player, Javier "Chicharito" Hernández. He followed Arkansas Razorbacks athletics. He played tennis with Stephen, golf with his dad, brother, and friends, and participated in community soccer, softball, and volleyball leagues. In 2021, he added another title to the family record when he won the UCM bowling league championship alongside his mother, father, and brother. Brandon also collected the kind of unexpected accomplishments that made his life especially fun to talk about. He made his acting debut in Albino Farm, a horror film shot in Warrensburg that featured professional wrestling legend Chris Jericho, giving Brandon the distinction of having both a film credit and a story his family could bring up forever. His competitive streak extended to gaming as well. In 2011, while at the University of Arkansas, Brandon won the university's esports FIFA soccer championship. For someone who loved soccer and video games almost equally, it may have been one of the titles for which he was most perfectly suited. Whether competing on a tennis court, a bowling lane, a fantasy football roster, or a virtual soccer pitch, Brandon had an impressive habit of eventually finding a way to call himself champion.

And, importantly, Brandon died as the reigning champion of the family's fantasy football league, a distinction he would almost certainly insist belonged in any accurate account of his life.

He loved Xbox, especially FIFA and Call of Duty, and was the unquestioned leader of a weekly gaming crew that included close friends who became another kind of family. He loved movies and music, with favorites ranging from Taking Back Sunday and Jimmy Eat World to Bobby Pulido and Vicente Fernández.

He enjoyed running and walking, lifting weights, bicycling with his family, and maintaining a lawn green enough and pristine enough to qualify as one of his more serious personal projects.

He loved his dad's hamburgers and gravy, his mom's chicharrones con chile, chocolate milk and milkshakes even though he was lactose intolerant, and, without apology or pretension, McDonald's hamburgers.

He loved travel, particularly when it meant taking his family somewhere new. In recent years, Brandon and his family made memories in Branson, Washington, D.C., San Diego, and South Padre Island. Brandon especially enjoyed the camping trips they shared with Kristen's parents, Loree and Dennis Walrath, traveling together from Missouri all the way to South Texas. He and Kristen traveled together through the Caribbean, Mexico, and Central America, and Brandon reliably returned carrying gifts and souvenirs for the people he loved.

But home remained one of his favorite places.

Home meant bike rides and the backyard firepit. It meant family Halloween costumes carefully coordinated around a theme, driving around together to see Christmas lights, and taking annual family photographs every fall. It meant Claire and Sebi. It meant Kristen. It meant knowing the people he loved were nearby.

Brandon was also blessed with friendships that lasted across decades. He shared especially close bonds with lifelong friends including Justin Garcia, Travis Palmer, Matt Colvin, Kenny Beck, and Johnny Reed. People stayed friends with Brandon because he stayed present in their lives. He was loyal, funny, encouraging, and genuine.

He is survived by his wife, Kristen Christ; his children, Claire and Sebastian "Sebi" Christ; his parents, Leonard and Sandy Christ; his brother and best friend, Stephen Christ, and Stephen's wife, Marie; his grandmother, Araceli Vela; his beloved niece and nephews: Peyton, Eli, Owen,Elena, and Jaxon; and a large and exceptionally close extended family, including Aunt Jazmine and Uncle Tim and Uncle Charlie. He also leaves behind lifelong friends, colleagues, former students, clients, teammates, fellow coaches, gaming partners, and countless community members whose lives are better because Brandon was part of them.

There is no language that can make Brandon's death at 41 feel anything other than impossibly early. There were supposed to be more family vacations and soccer games. More daddy daughter dances. More Christmas lights. More tennis matches and gaming nights. More championships to argue about. More stories. More jokes of the day. Most painfully, there were supposed to bedecades more with Kristen, Claire, and Sebi.

His absence leaves an irreplaceable space in the lives of those who loved him.

Yet the measure of Brandon's life cannot be found simply in its length. It can be found in two children who knew, every single day, that their father adored them. It can be found in a wife who knew she was his pride and joy. It can be found in parents who knew they could count on their son, a grandmother who heard his voice and lit up with pride in the man he was, a brother who had a best friend beside him for an entire lifetime, friends who spent decades laughing with him, children he coached, people he helped rebuild their lives, and a community made more humane because Brandon chose to participate fully in it.

He gave people his heart, his humor, his time, and his humanity.

Visitation will be held Friday, August 21, from 6:00 to 8:00 p.m. at Sweeney Phillips & Holdren Funeral Home in Warrensburg. During the visitation, dedicated time will be set aside for family and friends to share their personal stories, memories, and experiences with Brandon as part of a celebration of his life. Those who knew and loved Brandon are warmly encouraged to share what made him special to them, whether through a favorite story, a meaningful memory, or simply a few words about the difference he made in their lives. A Mass of Christian Burial will be celebrated Saturday, August 22, at 9:00 a.m. at Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Warrensburg. Burial will immediately follow at Calhoun Cemetery in Calhoun, Missouri.

A Brandon Christ Memorial Fund has been established for those wishing to make a contribution in lieu of flowers. All donations will directly support Kristen, Claire, and Sebi as they navigate the difficult days ahead.

Brandon often ended conversations not with an ordinary goodbye, but with the words, "Paz de Cristo." Peace of Christ.

It is difficult now to imagine saying goodbye to someone whose presence was so large, warm, funny, and constant. His family takes comfort in the faith that the love Brandon poured into them did not disappear on August 14. It remains in his children, in the family he built, in the people he helped, in the stories his friends will continue telling, and in every joke that makes someone laugh hard enough to think of him.

Every night, Brandon kissed Claire and Sebi and told them, "See you when the sun comes up."

His family will keep carrying his love with them each time it does.

Paz de Cristo, Brandon.