On May 21st at 10:40 p.m., Swift A. Burch III went home to be with our Heavenly Father.
Below is a detailed timeline—from his initial hospital visit to the moments of his passing.
On May 7th, Swift began experiencing significant bleeding from his lower region. He took himself to the emergency room while Chantelle was picking up the kids from school and getting them ready for Kenzo’s choir performance. Together, they decided to move forward with the evening as planned, not wanting to alarm the kids.
Later that evening, Swift was admitted to the hospital. Doctors discovered that his blood was septic—it was poisoning his body. They began limited interventions, including antibiotics to fight the infection and medication to manage his pain. Swift had come in reporting a pain level of 9, and the medication only reduced it slightly, to about a 7.5 or 8. We later learned that he had endured this level of pain for the past year, doing his best to live life fully and be present for his family.
On Swift's birthday, May 8th, after taking the kids to school, Chantelle went to the hospital to be with him. She met with three different surgeons, each of whom gave devastating news: the bleeding was caused by a tumor that was decaying, and his intestines were actively dying. None of the surgeons were willing to operate, and there was a lot of confusion and heartbreak as Chantelle and Swift tried to understand what was really going on inside his body.
Later that day, Swift was officially told that surgery was not an option. The news was devastating, and he struggled to process the reality. After some time, he asked to get up and use the restroom. When Chantelle noticed he’d been gone too long, she went to check on him and found that he was bleeding again. She quickly called for help, but the medical staff struggled to support his large frame. In a panic, she ran into the hallway and yelled for someone strong to assist. As he was rushed to the ICU, Swift said to Chantelle, “Maybe this will make them operate.”
In the ICU, a surgeon—new to Swift’s case—was able to stop the severe bleeding intravenously. They were able to find the bleed, coil it and determine the bleed was due to a ruptured artery. After stabilizing him, the surgeon explained to Chantelle that although he understood her hope, surgery was not a viable option. The tumor inside Swift was already dead. If they attempted to remove it, it would fall apart in the surgeon’s hands. The risk of death was simply too high.
In the days that followed, Swift recovered enough to be moved from the ICU to a regular hospital room. During that time, he developed a deep and painful wound on his lower back, just above his bottom—about four inches long and 1.5 inches wide. Because of this, and his declining condition, it was determined that he would begin hospice care at the Sherman Home, a facility close to the Burch residence.
Choosing to transition to comfort care was an impossible and deeply painful decision for Swift and Chantelle. It meant accepting that no further medical interventions would be made to prolong his life. If he began to hemorrhage again, there would be no intravenous support, no emergency measures to stop the bleeding. He would no longer receive blood transfusions to counteract blood loss. This shift marked the moment where hope for healing had to give way to the sacred act of saying goodbye.
One of the most heart-wrenching moments in this journey came when Swift and Chantelle had to sit down with Sydah and Kenzo and tell them the unimaginable—that their father was dying. It was a conversation no parent should ever have to face, but Swift, even in his pain, approached it with grace and love. They created a safe space, filled with honesty and tenderness, where the kids could ask questions, cry, and simply be held. Swift reassured them that his love would never leave them—that he would always be with them in spirit, cheering them on in every game, every milestone, every quiet moment of doubt. It was a moment filled with grief, but also profound love—a testament to the kind of father and husband Swift was, and the strength Chantelle continues to carry.
While in hospice, Swift made the most of his time. He met with pastors, friends, and family. He recorded messages and made arrangements to ensure his memory would be carried forward, and that support would be in place for Sydah and Kenzo. One of his biggest wishes was that the kids would continue to thrive in soccer and that his illness wouldn’t alter their paths.
His time at the Sherman Home was an emotional roller coaster. Outwardly, he seemed to improve. He was eating and drinking his favorite things, laughing, talking, and spending time with loved ones while still receiving comfort care. Chantelle and the kids even celebrated a joint birthday and early Father’s Day. They decorated his room and played Uno together—it was a beautiful day.
That evening, Chantelle and Swift began discussing the possibility of going home. Initially, they had chosen hospice care at a facility to keep their home as a sanctuary and safe place for the kids. But now they were unsure. Tragically, that decision would soon be made for them.
On May 20th at 2:30 a.m., Swift went into hemorrhagic shock (bleeding out) again. The nurse called several times, but both Chantelle and I missed the calls. It was young Sydah who answered and woke Chantelle. The nurse told her to come to the Sherman Home immediately. During this time the nurses were able to stabilize. At 5:30am the kids were by his side because we were unsure how much time he had with them. The trauma of that moment is difficult to describe. It was especially hard on the kids.
Throughout that day, Swift was surrounded by love—pastors, friends, and family gathered as worship music played in the background and praying.
Swift drifted in and out of consciousness, but there were moments of lucidity. At one point, he jokingly asked where the ribs were—a meal he had been looking forward to. Friends responded immediately, bringing him a full spread of ribs, tri-tip, salads, and desserts. Sadly, he never got the chance to enjoy it.
That night, Chantelle stayed by his side, holding his hand and caring for him closely. She made sure his pain was managed and loved him through every moment. The following morning, the hospice doctor confirmed what we all feared—Swift’s blood was becoming septic again, and his body was shutting down. It would be hours or just a few short days.
The kids stayed by his side that day, holding him, kissing him, and soaking up every second. Chantelle cared for him with tenderness—offering ice chips, wiping sweat from his brow, and gently telling him it was okay to let go.
It was a sacred, painful, unforgettable experience. No one can truly prepare for those final hours. I got the call from my sister—Swift was hemorrhaging again, and this was it. Chantelle stayed with him to the end laying in the bed while holding him as she prayed Psalm 23 over him and playing worship music for the 3 hours that he began to go into a deep transition to the Lord — Swift passed that evening with Chantelle by his side.
This is, and will continue to be, the most unimaginable loss for Chantelle, Sydah, and Kenzo. The void Swift leaves behind is not just in their home, but in every space he once quietly and powerfully occupied. Swift was the kind of person whose presence didn’t demand attention—yet somehow, he always drew people in. His quiet demeanor, gentle strength, and unwavering love made him magnetic. Whether you met him once or knew him deeply, you likely walked away feeling seen, valued, and better for having known him.
Swift left a lasting impact on everyone he encountered. He lived with humility, served without asking for anything in return, and loved with his whole heart. The legacy he leaves behind is not only one of strength and grace but of deep connection—to his family, to his friends, and to the community that surrounded him. His legacy lives on in his beautiful children, Sydah and Kenzo, who carry their father’s light in their eyes, his heart in their actions, and his dreams in their future.
As many of you know, Swift was the family’s sole provider. His sudden and heartbreaking passing has placed a heavy financial burden on Chantelle as she now faces the difficult task of grieving, parenting, and rebuilding their life without him. This is where we—his extended community—can step in and stand beside the family he loved so deeply.
We are asking for your help. Your prayers, your love, and your financial support mean more than words can express. Every donation, no matter the amount, will go directly to helping this grieving family cover essential living expenses while Chantelle begins to navigate the unimaginable road ahead. Your generosity will ensure the children’s needs are met, bills are paid, and space is created for healing.
This is our moment to come together and hold up this family in their greatest time of need—just as Swift would have done for any of us. Please consider donating, sharing this message, and continuing to lift Chantelle, Sydah, and Kenzo in prayer.
Thank you in advance for any way God touches your heart to help the Burch family.
GoFundMe, Zelle (@chantelleburch13@gmail) or Venmo (@Chantelle-Burch).