His Father’s Death Taught Him How to Lead
A Legacy of Grit and Grace: How One Catholic Leader Found Manhood Through Grief, Faith, and Family
Jay Wonacott isn’t your stereotypical church man. Yes, he runs the Office of Marriage, Family Life, and Respect Life in Boise, Idaho, and yes, he holds decades of theology and ministry under his belt. But at his core, he’s a man forged in the fires of fatherhood, grief, and gut-wrenching personal trials. He's the kind of guy who quotes Seneca and Aquinas, but also stands knee-deep in the emotional trenches with his five daughters, fellow firemen, and brothers in faith.
His story isn’t a Hollywood tale of instant transformation. It’s the kind of narrative that modern men will recognize as their own: invisible pressures, silent expectations, and unexpected tragedy. But instead of folding, Jay did what real men do. He stayed. He grew. He gave.
THE DEATH THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING
Jay was living a full life: father of five, married nearly three decades, and a well-respected church leader. Then, in 2005, everything changed. His father died suddenly in a horrific worksite accident. The blow wasn’t just emotional. It was existential.
"I had to realize that my dad had left me a legacy," Jay recalled. "He had left me something I needed to think about. Fortitude. Hard work. Loving your family through thick and thin."
But Jay didn't process that pain right away. Instead, he buried it under a stack of 25 library books on grief, and tried to intellectualize the loss. That strategy worked until it didn’t. A panic attack dropped him to the floor and sent him to the ER.
That moment was the breaking point. Or rather, the forging point.
"You either get better or bitter," he said. "And I chose to get better."
THE HEROES THAT HELD HIM
Jay’s concept of heroism isn’t mythic. It’s rooted in real people. George Washington. John Paul II. His dad. His brother Tim the fireman. His father-in-law. Even his Uncle Ed, who spent his life battling mental illness and found pride in striping a highway bridge in Idaho.
"Heroes are people who do extraordinary things in ordinary ways," Jay explained.
His brother Tim stands out: a fire captain who faced trauma head-on and now helps others process PTSD. "He's been honest about his weakness," Jay said. "That's heroic."
Jay honors quiet strength: the man who says the rosary daily, who stays in a marriage through difficulty, who works a tough job and comes home to love.
WHEN THE HEART ALMOST STOPS
If losing his father cracked open Jay’s heart, 2018 nearly crushed it. His wife coded blue during a heart cath procedure. Just like that, she was gone. And then, miraculously, brought back.
"It was classic TV. Crash cart. Boom. She came back," he said, voice steady.
But Jay wasn’t the same man he was in 2005. His earlier loss had forced him to integrate head, heart, and gut—a journey that made him emotionally resilient. "I don't know what I would've done without that earlier work," he confessed.
He calls it the three-fold path of masculine integration. The mind for wisdom. The heart for love. The gut for courage. Lose one, and a man fragments. Bind them, and he becomes whole.
THE MANTLE PASSES
There’s a moment in every man’s life where the son must become the father. Jay felt it the day his father died. That invisible mantle passed. And it hit like a freight train.
"I always looked to my boss as a mentor. But then you realize, no, it's your time to be the mentor," Jay said.
His voice sharpens when he talks about modern fatherhood. "Real men stay. They take arrows for their family. Sometimes even from their family."
Today, Jay meets weekly with a small group of men—one of them, just 23. And it’s that young man he wants to be a hero for.
"We're passing the mantle. Intergenerational heroism. That's what Heroic Men is about," he said.
He dreams of being a rock for the future husbands of his daughters. A mentor to the lost and seeking. And a man who lays his life down not just in crisis, but in consistency.
FINAL WORDS: FROM FATHER TO FATHER
Jay’s dreams are laced with death, but also resurrection. He saw his father in a dream, cleansed, whole, radiant. "My hands are clean now," the apparition said. That phrase, simple and profound, still echoes in Jay’s soul.
"Being a hero means giving yourself away in love," Jay said. "And in that losing, you actually gain it all back."
It’s a masculine gospel not often told. Vulnerable, but unyielding. Grounded in faith, but tested in fire. Jay's story is a roadmap for any man who feels like he's stumbling in the dark. And maybe, just maybe, a gentle voice reminding us that grief isn't the end. It's the threshold to a deeper love.