Ronald Tungol

Ronald Joseph Tungol

Age 60, passed away peacefully on December 25, 2023. Beloved father to Ronald Joseph Tungol, Jr (Haley). Dear brother to Stanley Kapral (Karen), Edward Kapral (Lisa), Diane Magram (Edward), Larry Herren, John McFadden (Wendy) and Laura Storino (Stephen).

Ron graduated from St Joe’s Prep in 1981, he served in the US Navy from 1982 through 1986. Ron lived a tumultuous life.  Reflecting on his life, Ron’s greatest impact was to point to God’s grace and peace.  God gifted Ron with exceptional intellectual ability, and Ron used it to study God’s work to find a real God who loved him and called him his own.  No matter what Ron did, good or bad, and what the consequences were to himself and to others, God’s grace, mercy, and peace were evidenced in his life, even to his debilitating sickness, long suffering, and peaceful death.  Because Ron believed that Jesus’ s perfect life and death were enough to make him right with God, we have confidence that Ron’s his first breath in eternity brought him into the loving arms of Jesus.

My Brother Ron

Ron’s Early Years

In the early 1960s, my mom, a divorced mother of two sons, met a Filipino immigrant and married a second time.  On May 25, 1963, Ron was the third son born to mom Stella and the first son born to dad Reynaldo Tungol. Sisters Diane and Laura followed. By 1966, Stella was again a single mother.  We grew up hard, in predominantly Irish Catholic Kensington neighborhood of Philadelphia, where our darker skinned Filipino looks were often socially challenging.

Dad entered our lives again when Ron was eight. We gained our Michigan family, a loving stepmom, Jean, brother, Larry and Aunt Pearl. While the girls visited only in the summers, Ron visited more. Ron attended the pre-8^th grade program and then high school at St. Joseph’s Prep, where he made friends who shared his intellect. Ron graduated in 1981, briefly attended Temple University, then served in the US Navy (1982 to 1986). For Ron, abusing alcohol followed from my dad’s example, from his genes, from his own choices.

Ron’s Twenties and Thirties

Ron made the decision to get sober.  He worked selling hardware supplies, then for the Philadelphia Parking Authority, then as a machine operator in a box factory. Ron was politically savvy, becoming the Ward leader in his neighborhood and union rep at his job. Many Saturdays, Ron walked the streets of Juniata and Kensington, enrolling voters, or getting petitions signed.

Along the way, Ron used the gifts God gave him to see through the clutter of broken human religiosity, and grasp that God loved him enough to send his own son to die for his sin. More than a spiritual experience, Ron zealously read the scripture and made sure to share with others.  He opened the Bible and walked my mother through the good news.  When I picked up my high school catholic bible and started reading, I would call Ron up and ask him questions.  His most impactful response to me, “No other book will touch your heart like the Bible will.” Ron taught me what a Concordance was.

Ron had a Harley, a 1968 XLCH Sportster, which he replaced the 750 engine with a 900.  Ron was a good cook and entertainer. He showed me how to make brown gravy quickly.  He was a talented cook and made delicious pork adobe, Boston crème pie, donuts. In a world before google was a verb, Ron could figure out just about anything he put his mind to do.

Ron’s Forties and Fifties

Ron bought a house, settled in with Teri and Jonathan, had his son RJ, and a seemingly together life. Ron was charming, handsome, and proud, and this would be his downfall.

When things fell apart in their marriage, Ron struggled to stay sober and raise RJ.  He failed.

When Ron fell on his bathroom floor, my mother got to him in enough time to get him medical care which saved his life; however, lack of oxygen left him with anoxic encephalopathy, essentially with the brain of an 80-year-old.  He went through severe alcohol withdrawal in a hospital bed at Northeastern Hospital, a horrid suffering.  We waited to see if he would recover his memory.  He did not.  He went from hospital to nursing home.

What I Learned from Ron

I learned a lot from Ron.  When he was in high school, I read his Prep require readings, I learned about the worlds of Tolkien and James Joyce. Ron had a unique quality I called “brilliantly lazy.” He could offer up a clever tidbit that saved work or time. For instance, observing me scrub out the microwave oven, he would tilt his head as if processing my overwork, and say, “Laur, just put a cup of hot water in the microwave and steam it. Don’t scrub.” There was an efficiency to his “brilliantly lazy” thought process.  Observing me in gym clothes, he remarked, “You know, if I notice I gained weight, I just eat a little less each meal and walk the parking lot a few more times a day.” Well, go figure.

At time, brilliantly lazy frustrated me. Once, I had the front door off and lying in the middle of the living room. I had replaced the hinges, and needed to rehang the door. I asked, “Ron, do you feel like helping me?” and he replied, “No.” Then, he gave me a suggestion to help me balance the door on my own so I could rehang the door, and he walked through the gaping front entry.  It was hard to stay angry with Ron.  Once, when he could tell he had stretched my patience, he told me, “You know, you can say no. If you don’t say no, I’ll just keep asking.”

After Ron’s devastating fall, I learned a lot more through his life. I learned to use the political capital or goodwill that Ron had built to get him care in the VA system.  I learned words like confabulation. I learned that music was therapy, so Ron signing along to Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven was a good thing. I learned that sometimes I had to fight the caregivers to be care givers.  I learned that my mother was tough, as she managed and worried about small comforts for Ron, slippers, new clothes, a watch, change for his pocket to use the vending machine.  I learned that if your only pleasure in life was one cigarette or a Boston crème donut, you should enjoy those pleasures.  I learned to answer his longing questions, “When can I go home?” in a way that could soothe him, because when he pressed against what he could not remember, it hurt him.

And There Was Grace

• Grace when my mother found him still alive on his bathroom floor.
• Grace when the VA cared for him for more than a year in their psych unit until we could find a place for him.
• Grace through Teri’s family, providing sobriety, love and care for RJ as he grew.
• Grace through RJ’s foster family, who provided love, stability and caring to get RJ through high school graduation and into manhood.
• Grace that Ron lived long enough for RJ to meet him as a grown man, on his own terms.
• Grace that covid raged through the nursing homes, and Ron was in isolation twice with the virus, he never complained from pain or discomfort. Grace that we could have visits via the IPAD.

And There Was Peace

When there is grace, peace follows. Over the last few years, Ron stopped asking, “Do they say when I’m going to get out of here?” Ron valued the care that was offered to him, from the nursing staff who took care of all his physical needs, fed him, checked his insulin levels through the day, he sincerely thanked each caregiver for each act.  On Christmas Eve, a staff member told me, “We love Ron.  He’s a sweetheart.” As on all our visits, his last words to me were, as they were on each visit were, “I love you too. Thanks, Laur.”                                                                                          –  Laura Tungol Storino, 12/25/2023

A private burial will take place at Washington’s Crossing Veteran’s Cemetery.