We are heartbroken to announce the passing of Christopher McKinney of Concord on April 11, 2021. A beloved husband, father, brother and dearest friend, Chris died suddenly of a heart attack, and was surrounded by his family when he passed. Chris was born in December 1958 at St. Elizabeth's Hospital in Brighton, the youngest of nine McKinney children born of the late Mary and Joseph McKinney of Brighton. He graduated from Boston Tech High School and attended Bentley College, where he obtained an accounting degree and became a Certified Public Accountant. Chris was highly regarded in his industry and most recently served as CFO for numerous organizations including Analytix Solutions, Lupoli Industries, and Columbus Restaurant Group. He also spent decades with Cintolo & McCarthy CPA's during tax season, where they prized his easy banter in the office in addition to his tax expertise. While Chris loved baseball and played little league, his passion was golf. As a youth he loved his summers at Bald Peak Colony Club caddy camp, and later caddied at Chestnut Hill Country Club. Golf channel was the default TV setting, and his great unfulfilled dream was to play at Augusta. Please think of him and say a prayer when you round the 18th hole. Chris loved and adored his family, and was married for 28 years to his wife and best friend, Lissa McKinney. He was the proud father of his son, Christopher, and daughter Isabella, who were the great joys of his life. As a devoted father, he cheered them on through various sports, and supported them throughout all their academic pursuits and activities. He was a loving and supportive husband, constantly full of surprises-like suddenly taking up cooking during Covid to the delight and awe of his family. He had a quick wit, a kind smile and a hearty laugh that will be sorely missed by all who knew and loved him. Chris also leaves behind his siblings: Ellen Bailey of Illinois; Joseph McKinney of Brighton; Jill Horne of Arizona and her husband Richard; Nancy Kershaw of Belmont and her husband Tom; Peter McKinney of Weymouth; Mary Williams of Reading and her husband John; Sister Jean McKinney of Roslindale; and Stephen McKinney of Wrentham and his wife Emmy. Chris was beloved by his in-laws, always vying for favorite son-in-law of Margaret Pancare, and the late Leonard Pancare of Leominster. He was an amazing brother-in-law to Monica Pancare of Belmont; Kristine and Anthony McManus of Westwood; and Peter and Rachel Pancare of Mansfield. He delighted in his large family, cousins too numerous to count, and especially his many nieces and nephews. Relatives and friends are invited to gather for visiting hours on Sunday, April 18th from 3 to 6 pm in the Dee Funeral Home, 27 Bedford Street, Concord Center. The current COVID-19 pandemic makes the normal mourning process much more difficult. Sadly, the funeral Mass at Holy Family Parish in Concord will be limited to family and close friends only, but will be livestreamed. Regardless of your presence, we feel your love and support. If you would like to honor Chris, or comfort the family, please feel free to comment on the Online Guestbook. Please click below to view the Mass recording from Monday, April 19th at 10:30 am. In lieu of flowers, donations in his memory may be made to the Boston Pops , The Youth Advocacy Foundation , or the Emerson Hospital Auxiliary . You could also donate blood at Emerson Hospital or consider learning CPR. You might just save a life--perhaps someone as wonderful as Chris McKinney. Arrangements are under the care of Dee Funeral Home & Cremation Service of Concord. Words of remembrance offered by Bella: Good morning, everyone, thank you for being here today with us, whether in person or in spirit. I'm Isabella. I cannot express how grateful my family and I are for your continued prayers and condolences in such a difficult time. We are beyond blessed to have a support system such as you all, and I know it is a reflection of just how many lives my father touched. My father was a remarkable man, and I would like to honor and celebrate the life he had and the life he has given me, my brother, and my mother with you all today. As I've grown up over the years, I have been able to form a more adult relationship with my father. I only ever knew him as my dad, and mostly my bug-killer. However, as we all eventually learn (to our surprise), our parents had full and complete lives that at one point did not entirely revolve around their children. Those are the "P.C," years or, "Pre-Children." This past week, looking through old photos, I keep finding myself surprised at what a full brown head of hair my father had. He always told Chris and I that we were the cause of his grey hair-- although without naming names, one of us probably gave him more grey hair than the other. However, the story of how I -- I mean we --gave him grey hair starts with the story of my parents. My father had worked for the Cintolo and McCarthy Accounting firm, dear friends to this day. One evening, some thirty years ago, my mother was at a dinner party with Mike and Fran when they decided to go dancing—at the Wonderland Dog Track in Revere!--and invited a skinny Irish boy to join them. That night my father lost his shirt, but he always said that he won the lottery instead. No one would have thought that a young accountant from Brighton would ever have been able to keep up with my mother; however, his dashing good looks (I hope you all saw the picture with his pencil mustache), charming nature, and quick wit stole my mother's heart before she could tell her parents she wasn't marrying a nice Italian boy from the neighborhood. When I was younger, books and TV reinforced the idea that true love meant parents kissing while the children turned their faces away, saying "ew, that's disgusting." But that's not real life. My father's love, devotion, and support for my mom have shown me what a full, and strong marriage should be made of. For 28 years, my father made my mom coffee in the morning—even though he didn't drink it himself. He got up early in a storm to clean and warm up her car in the winter; set an alarm to make sure she got up in time for court; and even helped her color her hair when she didn't feel like going to the salon. (We gave her a few gray hairs, too.) What TV never shows is that love takes commitment, sacrifice, and hard work. My father commuted back and forth from Florida for a job, missing T-Ball games, parent-teacher conferences, and date nights. He worked countless twelve to fourteen-hour days to make sure my brother and I never had to worry, all while wearing a smile. My dad was always a glass half-full kind of guy, no matter what the situation was. While there are many lessons to be learned from death, my father's positive outlook is a lesson we can take from his life. I'd like to state for the record that no one ever liked the classic "Hi hungry, my name is Dad." I'm just thankful most of you never had to experience my dad talking about computers "on-the-line" no matter how many times Chris and I told him it was "online." One famous joke was when my Dad diabolically planned to best my Uncle Anthony for the award of "Best-Son-In-Law" with my grandmother. My Dad was the master at the long game. One weekend, Dad asked Uncle Anthony to pose for some pictures with his dog and my grandmother at my Aunt Kristine's Cape house. Dad later gave my Uncle a photograph of him and his yellow Labradorian a magnetic frame, which promptly went up on refrigerator. Nice, right? However, what no one saw coming was that my Dad only framed half of the photo. It was at least five months later when my grandmother noticed the picture. "What a beautiful photo," she said. Immediately, my father said, "Why Anthony, what happened to Mom in that picture? Did you crop her out? Here's the copy I carry around, Mom; I wouldn't take you out of my picture." And what does my dad do but pull out the original copy of the summer photo--and sure enough, there was my grandmother, who never made it in the photo on display. I \hate to say it, Uncle Anthony, but I think just by the sheer mad genius of my father's 'jokes' over the years that you may have to settle for second place as the best son-in-law. In talking with my brother over this past week, we both agreed that Dad had a funny way of communicating with us sometimes. In high school, when trying to wake my brother up for school, "Good morning, son, time to get up" somehow turned into playing Bruce Springsteen's "Santa Clause is Coming to Town" regardless of the month. I will say that though he had a 100% success rate getting Chris out of bed in the morning, my brother is not a big fan of Bruce Springsteen. Chris, I hope you feel the same satisfaction that Dad did when you blast this in your child's room one morning before school, and that you also remember how much you wanted to throw his phone down the stairs. Speaking of phones, while not the most efficient communicator, my father always gave my brother and me a heads up as to how far away he was. One evening, when going to pick up my brother from fencing practice, he sent Chris a text that read "T period s o m i z." To a regular person, it looked like meaningless letters strung together. However, my brother knew that what my dad meant to text him was "two min." To this day, my brother and my dad still laughed how for some rhyme or reason, my brother knew what my dad was trying to say and met him outside on time. One of Dad's all-time favorite movies was Caddyshack--for the high educational value of the movie, and for the love of golf my father had. As a boy-- when he wasn't walking uphill both ways in the snow to school-- he spent his summers caddying at the local golf course. Golf isn't always the most interesting sport, but throughout the summer and the fall my father would watch the tournaments on a Saturday or a Sunday, and given that all I wanted to do was what Daddy did, I sat right next to him on the couch. His favorite number, as far as I know, has always been 18, the number of holes in a full course. In fact, he liked the number 18 so much, that when my mother was pregnant with me, he asked if I could be delivered a week early to be born on his favorite day-- November 18th. Somehow, she obliged, so my birthday is based on the number of holes in a golf course. One of my dad's dreams has always been to play Augusta, and my family and I hope to spread some of his ashes over his favorite courses, including the 18th hole of Augusta. To the golf lovers here with us today, please think of my father the next time you tee up. My dad also love the Christmas movie, "It's a Wonderful Life" from 1949 with James Stewart. The main character, George Bailey, wishes that he had never been born at all--and then is shown how much good he did in life, and how much poorer the town and people would be if he never existed. However, George only realizes that he is back to his rightful place when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out flowers his youngest daughter, Zuzu, had given him and joyfully remarks "Zuzu's flowers! Zuzu's flowers!" While there are a thousand stories and jokes between my father and me, Zuzu's flowers would have to be the most meaningful to me. While I was still living at home (before going to College), whenever I fell sick or had a bad day, my dad would always say "My poor Zuzu, what can I do to help?" In college, this turned into me texting him "Zuzu had a bad day," and I knew his response would be "Oh little one." When I had a bad day, all I needed was to know that Dad was there and that he was listening. In my senior year of high school, my dad would get up every morning and pack my lunch, and tuck a note into my lunchbox with a quote for the day. These started out with quotes like "May the wind always be at your back, and may the sun always shine on you," but often it was his own words of wisdom. "Friends are like layers of clothing, it's always nice to have one or two." Another one, which he wrote the morning before a track meet; "Run as if a bear is chasing you. Fast enough so he doesn't catch you, but not so fast that you get tired and have to stop." However, my favorite Dad-ism comes from a valentines day card that he wrote one year. "Roses are red, violets are some other color. I wish you would always be four. You will always be my valentine." It is in the every day moments such as these that my dad will be missed: his bed-head in the morning, the way he danced around the kitchen just to make us laugh, every fist bump, good morning text, and welcome home hug. Every holiday, we will think of him, and how he made each and every day better for those around him. The smile that we all know too well, will be what I miss most. Finally, my father and I loved the movie Secretariat, the incredible history of the triple crown winner in 1973. Before the last race in the Triple Crown, the owner, Penny Cheney, is talking to Secretariat in the stable. She says, "I've realized something. I've already won. I made it here. I didn't quit. I've run my race, now you run yours." Well, my Dad has won his race. He only ever wanted the love and respect of his family, and he had that in spades. He earned the love and respect of good people—his friends, work colleagues, relatives, and all who knew him. While it was a life too short, it was a life well-lived. Both of my parents worked harder than anyone I've ever known so that my brother and I would be able to have the education that we do, and in return make them proud of the people that they've raised us to be. My father didn't set such an amazing example for us to stop now; we must continue on with our lives, our races. That is what he would have wanted for those he held close to his heart. To all of you here with us today mourning my father—run a good race. I know he will be looking down on all of us as we continue the journey ahead, together. Thank you. As Dad would say, it's a beautiful day to go golfing.