My Warrior Path (Book 6)

My Grandfather

*This isn't a poem but the speech I gave at my grandfather's funeral last week. He fell out of his 8th floor window; it was a freak, tragic accident but we're still trying to wrap our minds around it. What I'm sharing here is for the people who couldn't attend or didn't know. The above photos are what he looked like just before we immigrated and all of his medals.*

I'm a strange person. My memory goes back to when I was 1. I remember my grandfather's red house in Slutsk, Belarus USSR; inside, outside, the veranda, the gate that I rode on, even the outhouse that I proudly used when I was maybe 4. I loved having a grandfather whose hat I could wear, who sneezed 22 times and that record was never broken. He was the man who claimed it would take 2 heart attacks just to feed me. When we immigrated, he had to sell that red house he built himself. Coming to a foreign country was not easy but he made do anyways. Tried learning English but stayed in the ESL class 1 & 2 a few years at a time (we still don't know if he graduated and I'm not sure he did either). After my grandmother died, my grandfather learned how to cook, he practically raised me through all of my school years. He would take a small grocery cart and come yell at me and the other kids chatting for hours. He'd load my book bag--which weighed a ton--into that cart and relieve my shoulders. I loved beating him in dominoes too.

My grandfather was there for elementary, middle, high school, college, and grad school graduations; all proms too. Sadly, he won't be there for my PhD graduation, when I get married and have kids. My grandfather was a WWII vet for the Soviet Army, 4 times wounded and I inherited his gift and love of photography as that was his profession both before and after the war. I had a wonderful grandfather and no matter how heartbroken I am now not ready to let him go, I loved that man deeply and always will. I know he will meet me on the other side when it's my time with a hug, a great big smile, and a stack of dominoes.

I'm not here to talk about how he died, everyone knows. I'm here to talk about how he lived, through my eyes. A hero!

*RIP Fima Peker ~ July 2, 1923 ~ November 21, 2020.*