Brandon Lee Cross, 49, of Goshen, passed away peacefully within the familiar confines of his own home on Monday, December 22, 2025, at 5:00 p.m., following an extended illness. True to the way he lived his life, Brandon did not leave this world alone—his family was there, surrounding him with love, laughter, and the comfort he so freely gave to others.

Brandon was born on March 3, 1976, in Havre de Grace, Maryland, the beloved son of Warren "Buzz" Cross, Jr., of Elkhart, and Janet (Chenoweth) Blair. It was always said that Brandon carried Cherokee blood in his veins, something he was deeply proud of and spoke of often, not as a label but as a connection—to heritage, to spirit, and to people.

On June 13, 2003, Brandon married the love of his life, Dawn M. Rink, in Goshen. While they officially shared 22 wonderful years of marriage, anyone who truly knew them would quickly correct you—they had been inseparable for nearly seven years before that. They were partners in every sense: laughter, hardship, music turned up too loud, and a house full of love.

Along with his devoted wife Dawn and his father, Brandon leaves behind his cherished daughters, Hayli K. M. (Justin Adcock) Rink and Sierra C. M. Rink, both of Goshen; his brother, Warren "Wes" (Donna) Cross III of Goshen; sisters Crystal L. Cross of LaFollette, Tennessee, and Linda S. "Wendy" Rodriguez of Elkhart; and the absolute lights of his life—his grandchildren Shaylee M., Jaystin M., and Haizlee M. Rink, whom he lovingly referred to as his "pulse."

He will also be deeply missed by his extended family and by the countless friends, acquaintances, and "people he just met five minutes ago" who somehow walked away feeling like lifelong friends.

No remembrance of Brandon would be complete without mentioning his loyal shorkie, O'Malley—his constant shadow, best buddy, and unquestioned (and slightly tyrannical) evil overlord of the household—along with five cats who often worked in quiet, organized unity to keep O'Malley humble.

Brandon was preceded in death by his loving mother and by his niece and nephew, Angeleque Johnson and Kenneth Cross.

In accordance with his wishes, Brandon will be cremated and returned to his family. No formal services are scheduled at this time, though a family gathering may be held in the future—likely filled with good food, good stories, and laughter, just as Brandon would have wanted. Billings Funeral Home and Cremation Services of Elkhart has been honored to assist the family.

Brandon spent much of his working life as a machine operator at T & M Rubber in Goshen and Bristol Pipe in Bristol while his health allowed. But those who knew him best will tell you that his job was never the measure of the man. Brandon's true life's work was loving people.

At an imposing 6 feet 10 inches tall, Brandon was anything but imposing. He was the very definition of a gentle giant—soft-spoken, deeply empathetic, and endlessly patient. He had an uncanny ability to make people feel safe, heard, and valued. If you needed advice, comfort, or simply someone to sit with you in silence, Brandon was your guy. He loved people openly, without condition, and without keeping score—something few are truly able to do.

Known affectionately as "Big Bird" or "Lurch," Brandon was a "damn good" poker player, a seasoned deer hunter, and an accomplished fisherman—especially when salmon were involved. Much to the annoyance of his family, he was also a relentlessly cheerful morning person, ready to start the day with energy, optimism, and usually music playing far louder than necessary.

His musical taste was as wide as his heart—ranging from Ozzy Osbourne and Def Leppard to traditional country, and, yes, even Mexican gospel music. He sang along to all of it, volume and key optional.

Brandon ruled the grill like a true champion, serving up legendary T-bones, ribeyes, and porterhouses. He had a fierce love for Chinese food, and it's fair to say that local buffets may breathe a small sigh of relief in his absence. He was a devoted Fighting Irish fan and never missed an opportunity to buy a lottery ticket—always hopeful, always dreaming.

Soft, gentle, and deeply spiritual, Brandon never projected anything but kindness. His love for his family—especially his grandchildren—was boundless. They were his heartbeat, his pride, his joy.

And if you were lucky enough to be on the receiving end of one of his playful check-ins, you'll forever hear his voice asking with a grin:

"What, you mad at me?"

No, Brandon. Never. Only grateful we knew you—and loved you right back.