Patrick Dean Wachsmann

Pistol-Packin’ Patrick Dean Wachsmann, the man who came into this world on January 11, 1954 in Waco, Texas with a full head of fiery red hair and apparently a personal mission to keep things interesting, finally departed it on April 20, 2026, on his own terms, naturally.

Patrick was born the 5th of 11 children to Norene and Joe Wachsmann. He came from a big, loud, fiercely loving family and he loved every one of them more than he loved anything else on this earth.

He was raised Catholic, served as an altar boy, and in what can only be described as a promising spiritual trajectory, briefly considered the priesthood. That particular calling came to an abrupt and spectacular end in Mexico, when Patrick and a group of fellow priests were arrested. The marijuana was Patrick’s, and without a second thought he stood up and claimed every single charge so the priests could walk free. His sister Barbara saved him. Patrick would later say that she was always his angel, saving him in some way or another.

After high school, where he was an athlete thriving in baseball, basketball, and football at La Vega High School, class of 1972, Patrick served in the United States Air Force. He then married Sarah Russell, and together they became missionaries, traveling the world with alias names, smuggling Bibles into what was then the USSR. He didn’t just love God. He ran covert operations for Him. He was eventually arrested and ordered back to the United States, where he and Sarah raised their four children in a household that was, to put it generously, never boring and, to put it honestly, bumpy as all get out.

By trade, Patrick was a civil engineer and the force behind Wachsmann Company, through which he renovated historic homes.

Patrick was known for two things in equal and spectacular measure: a fiery temper and an even better sense of humor. He had a nickname for absolutely everyone. He was a prankster of the highest order. He possessed a childlike wonder for life that never dimmed, not once. When his kids were young, he would load them up, take them to get sno-cones, and let them steer the truck on the way home while he led them in a rousing rendition of “The Ants Go Marching One by One”.

He prayed for people without stopping, without questioning, with his whole chest, and he would not cease until he knew you were okay. If Patrick was praying for you, you were going to be alright whether you liked it or not. He would call and ask for updates months after the prayer request. His children received message after message from people telling them that his prayerful devotion to them touched their lives.

He loved sunsets, waterfalls, making babies laugh, his mother’s German chocolate cake, her pickles, and her kolaches, Big Red, a good joke, and giving to anyone who needed anything. He always kept HEB gift cards in his pocket, ready to hand to a stranger in need, especially a mother who looked like she could use a helping hand.

Death was something he was not afraid of. He has spent years loudly and somewhat competitively informing anyone who would listen that he could not wait to learn to fly and take his rightful place on the Sunset Committee. He was, in fact, openly irritated that his beloved daughter Abigail, who went home at 18 years old, got to experience flying before he did and had her place on the committee before him.

In his final days, Patrick kept it simple and kept it real, exactly as he always had. He swam at the YMCA with his friends who he loved, bragged relentlessly on his grandchildren to anyone within earshot, gave the nurses absolute hell, absolutely loved his nieces, nephews, great-nieces, great-nephews, cheered on his Baylor Bears and was, in every way that mattered, completely and unapologetically himself until the very end.

He is survived by his daughters, Emily Wachsmann (Emilka) and Tricia Wachsmann (Sheesha); his son and daughter-in-law, Jack (Bruiser) and Michelle Wachsmann; and his grandchildren, Myer Dean Reno, Jace Bear Wachsmann, Keira Lily Wachsmann, and Alexander Rush Wachsmann.

Patrick was the first of his 11 siblings to make the crossing, and everyone who knew him understands that this was entirely intentional. He could not have walked this earth without them, so he went ahead. He is up there right now, figuring out the layout, learning to fly, commissioning the most spectacular sunset anyone has ever seen, and waiting to be the very first one to greet them when they arrive.

He was welcomed home by his most wonderful mother in all the world, Norene Wachsmann,; his father, Joe Wachsmann; his feisty bird, “Cosmo”; and his most precious of all treasures, Aberdailers, whom he most certainly scooped up immediately and spun around in absolute, unbridled joy and delight. Man, how we wished we could have seen that!

Patrick Dean did not walk softly. He did not take up a small space. He loved loudly, prayed fiercely, laughed hard, and lived like a man who knew exactly how rare and strange and gorgeous the whole thing was.

Dad, the committee is so lucky to have you. We love you endlessly. Save us a spot.

Visitation and Memorial Service: Saturday, May 9, 2026

OakCrest Funeral Home: 4520 Bosque Blvd. Waco, Texas 76710

• Visitation: 10:30 a.m.

• Memorial Service: 11:45 a.m.

Patrick loved bright, colorful things, especially tie-dye. To celebrate his vibrant spirit, the family invites you to dress in bright colors for his memorial service.

In lieu of flowers, the family asks that you honor Patrick’s spirit by performing one random act of kindness, whether it’s handing out a HEB gift card or helping a neighbor.