David Gresky, Rest in Peace
I never had an opportunity to know my fraternal grandfather, as he died twenty-five years ago, when I was three. I’m told that I thought he was sleeping, and I tried to get in the coffin with him, to wake him up. He’s spoken of only occasionally in my family, and when he is, there is always a certain mysticism about him, as he is described, depending on who is speaking, as being either larger than life, or, alternatively, quiet, good-natured, and easy going. I’ll never be able to know that, and it is a source of enduring sadness for me. All I know for sure is how much I look like him, from the pictures, and the fact that I’m told about it whenever there’s a family get-together.
My grandmother Dora remarried David Gresky, and he’s the grandfather that I knew. We weren’t close, exactly, but I liked David. He was charming in an understated way, and he seemed to have a good temperament and sense of humor. It may have come as a bit of a surprise to my father and aunt that Dora remarried, but obviously she knew what she was doing, because she loved David, albeit in her own way, which wasn’t exactly to shower those close to her with affection. I was reminded of this at the funeral, when she was the one who appeared to be holding up the best out of all of us. Even at ninety-six years old, her strength continues to astonish me.
Friday, the funeral, was an emotional day, not only because of David’s passing, but also because it marked my return to my fraternal grandfather’s grave for the first time since his death, twenty-five years ago. Grandpa Harry is buried on one side, David is buried now on the other, and there is a space reserved between them for Dora, who was wife to both of them. I can only imagine the sadness in burying not one spouse but two, and I wish there was more that I could do for Dora. Regrettably, there is not. She has always been one who has held her emotions very much at arm’s length, not the grandmother baking cookies with the children in the kitchen during holiday ads. I tried to convey to her my sympathies, though, and I hope she got the message.
Death is never convenient. Even when it is expected, it seems as though the living always have plans that they have to push around. They are busy with the business of life, a full time job. I fear death, of that there can be no doubt, because it is the unknown, and the unknown is frightening. But if the best of what I envision death to be is true, then it is at least restful, peaceful, and I hope that is what the experience is like for David Gresky. At almost ninety-five years old, David lived seventy years that I didn’t know him, and I never knew him when he was young and vital. A person who lives to ninety-five can be said to have lived many lives, and I hope that David’s were full of pleasurable experiences more so than painful ones. Knowing him for the time that I did, and the enjoyment that he seemed to take from being married to Dora, I think that is the case. Though he wasn’t of my blood, I was honored to have such a gentleman as a member of my family, and I will miss him. It is my hope that he is resting peacefully, and my thoughts will be with him in the days to come.