Welcome to the memorial page for
Alex "Pop" Ulasiewicz
September 8, 1930 ~ May 12, 2017 (age 86) 86 Years Old Light a Candle
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Message from Anya Katie Eulogy for Pop
July 2, 2017 11:36 AM
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear how much I love you, so please don’t take my sunshine away. “
It was just the three of us, driving in your always spotless car, singing that song, over and over again. You provided the experiences, while allowing me to explore the world under your watchful eye. I lived in the moment, unaware of the amazing gifts of memories you and Maama were bestowing on me.
On most of our journeys, we crossed that “huge” bridge over the water and you would always say, “Annie Kate, do you want to jump off of that bridge? We can stop so you can.” Sometimes you even slowed down, making my heart race in anticipation. Little did I know that the figurative lesson you were teaching would mean so much to me later in life.
As you make one more pass across that bridge on your way home, know that I am there rooting for you, a little girl waving to her Pop. Yes, Pop, I will leap off of that bridge of life without fear, knowing there is nothing I cannot do, because you have taught me to be confident and strong. If I reach the water below, well, you know that I know how to swim, and I will get to the bank of that river, dry myself off, and jump again. I hope that as you look at the water this one last time, your heart is as full as mine always was when we traveled that path together. I am with you in spirit, and I know you are with me too.
The most special of gifts came to me today, in the form of a call from my Mom. Your nurse thought you were waiting on something, and that something might be a talk with me. We just spoke yesterday, but I was upset, and could not get too many words out. I know you knew everything I wanted to say, but my tears got in the way. Today was different, I spoke for a while, and I know you were speaking back to me.
We talked about ice cream and we talked about Jeopardy. We talked about reading the paper and we talked about Wheel of Fortune. We talked about Raggedy Ann and Andy and we talked about leaping into your arms each morning from the top of the steps. We talked about Ernie and E.T., and we talked about your kids and grandkids. We talked about Gracie and we talked about Maama. We talked about tenacity, we talked about suffering, and we talked about spending time together in your nursing home watching reality TV. We talked about the rowboat and the motor boat, and we talked about dogs. We laughed and we smiled, but you didn’t let me cry. I was calm and I was happy, and just before we hung up, it hit me. I had been waiting on you, and you knew it. Thank you, Pop, for waiting until you knew I would not experience that most horrible emotion of guilt for not being able to see you this week.
Thank you for waiting until “Gracie Kate” arrived before saying your final farewell. She will carry on the legacy of you and Maama, I promise. After all, she is sharing a piece of the nickname you gave me. Your Annie Kate will ready her to one day jump off of that bridge with the confidence you have instilled in me. Until then, we will drive across and look to the water below, holding hands and smiling, thinking of you. I will ask her the same question you asked me over and over, knowing that one day she too will get it, and when she does, you will be looking down from heaven and I will have made you proud.
I love you, Pop.
Katie Whitney (#1 Granddaughter)
It was just the three of us, driving in your always spotless car, singing that song, over and over again. You provided the experiences, while allowing me to explore the world under your watchful eye. I lived in the moment, unaware of the amazing gifts of memories you and Maama were bestowing on me.
On most of our journeys, we crossed that “huge” bridge over the water and you would always say, “Annie Kate, do you want to jump off of that bridge? We can stop so you can.” Sometimes you even slowed down, making my heart race in anticipation. Little did I know that the figurative lesson you were teaching would mean so much to me later in life.
As you make one more pass across that bridge on your way home, know that I am there rooting for you, a little girl waving to her Pop. Yes, Pop, I will leap off of that bridge of life without fear, knowing there is nothing I cannot do, because you have taught me to be confident and strong. If I reach the water below, well, you know that I know how to swim, and I will get to the bank of that river, dry myself off, and jump again. I hope that as you look at the water this one last time, your heart is as full as mine always was when we traveled that path together. I am with you in spirit, and I know you are with me too.
The most special of gifts came to me today, in the form of a call from my Mom. Your nurse thought you were waiting on something, and that something might be a talk with me. We just spoke yesterday, but I was upset, and could not get too many words out. I know you knew everything I wanted to say, but my tears got in the way. Today was different, I spoke for a while, and I know you were speaking back to me.
We talked about ice cream and we talked about Jeopardy. We talked about reading the paper and we talked about Wheel of Fortune. We talked about Raggedy Ann and Andy and we talked about leaping into your arms each morning from the top of the steps. We talked about Ernie and E.T., and we talked about your kids and grandkids. We talked about Gracie and we talked about Maama. We talked about tenacity, we talked about suffering, and we talked about spending time together in your nursing home watching reality TV. We talked about the rowboat and the motor boat, and we talked about dogs. We laughed and we smiled, but you didn’t let me cry. I was calm and I was happy, and just before we hung up, it hit me. I had been waiting on you, and you knew it. Thank you, Pop, for waiting until you knew I would not experience that most horrible emotion of guilt for not being able to see you this week.
Thank you for waiting until “Gracie Kate” arrived before saying your final farewell. She will carry on the legacy of you and Maama, I promise. After all, she is sharing a piece of the nickname you gave me. Your Annie Kate will ready her to one day jump off of that bridge with the confidence you have instilled in me. Until then, we will drive across and look to the water below, holding hands and smiling, thinking of you. I will ask her the same question you asked me over and over, knowing that one day she too will get it, and when she does, you will be looking down from heaven and I will have made you proud.
I love you, Pop.
Katie Whitney (#1 Granddaughter)
Message from Eulogy for Pop from son Bo
June 29, 2017 10:33 AM
Alexander Martin Ulasiewicz
Born 9/8/1930. Died 5/12/2017 about 18:20 in Charlotte
First, I want to thank Pop for the world that he created for me at 1429 Belleview Boulevard; that world was carried with me wherever I went. Pop’s influence was always there with me whether I wanted it or not. Pop knew the kind of world he wanted for his kids and worked hard to get his message through to young, thick heads. Perhaps, his military service in Korea is where his view of the world became crystallized. He wanted to live in a world where free-thinking people could make informed decisions, not a world where a certain few misguided people would determine their subjects’ destiny. Thank you, Pop, for the 20th century. Now it is our job to keep the 21st century going so that there will be a 22nd.
As I write this eulogy for my father, I feel that my father will probably outlive me. He has amazing physical strength and strength of character. Still, I need to get into words what my father means to me. I like words and stories to educate and tell me of the world and of my place in the world. Mom’s reverence for words was for the word standing alone. “That’s a good Scrabble word,” she would say. And that is how she saw and treated the world; being made up of individuals. I believe Pop saw the world from more of a wide angle lens. He liked to see ball teams working together for a common goal. He liked to see families in church; the Albaranos, the McCoys, the Provenzanos, the Barbers, the Bahens, the Carincis, the Carapellottis, the Constantinis, the Dysons. Though individually they may be flawed, together, seated as a family unit in a church pew--perfect.
For the most part, Pop was a man of few words. He put high value on what was spoken. He wanted words to have high meaning. Those words, though, would have to be supported by one’s actions. That would be the basis of the high value and meaning. In that sense, he would prefer an elegy; a poetic lamentation. Pop was a man of high ideals which he could expound on at length. But at the same time, he really would not want anyone to make a big to-do over him.
I was five or no more than six when I started learning valuable lessons from my father. Mom was sick in the hospital and Pop had all the kids kneel down in the upstairs hall near the crucifix to pray for Mom. I remember Pop wiping his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to hold back tears. I learned that my father loved my mother. I also learned the power of prayer for a common cause. Though Pop had trouble saying it, I knew that he loved me and I was a wanted child. I felt like I had a big advantage. It did not matter what the outside world wanted from me or whether the world wanted me at all. I love my father way more than he would let me tell him.
After church one day, a couple of grade school classmates, two brothers, were bad-mouthing their father complaining of their father’s alcoholism and his not being around to help the family. Pop could not stand all that negativism. He cut them off, acknowledging that all they said may be true but that man is still their father and deserves at least that respect. That’s where I learned the definition of respect. Although respect can be and it is a great thing when earned through actions, it is best for everyone when it given freely to each and every person, whether it is deserved or not. That is where everybody wins. Pop even had a certain, quiet, subdued respect when talking about Crazy Mary, the old Polish lady that loudly rambled on, in her native language about who knows what, wherever she went.
When we complained about the cold or the hot weather, Pop always said that we have to be sturdy stock. I did not know and do not know much about genetics; but I knew that this wasn’t my fault. Pop, this one is on you and Mom. It took many years for it sink in that he was telling us that you become sturdy stock by developing, then maintaining a strong mind and a strong body.
Pop was a thinker. It was a joy to watch those wheels turn in his measured, decision-making process. I knew my father loved us all even though he had a hard time showing it. Mom let us know the depth of his love for his kids. Mom was smart. She knew we needed to know, just in case Pop’s sternness kept us from seeing his love for us. Mark was a handful going through his teenage years. One night at the firehouse, Pop’s company responded to an automobile wreck. The teenage victim was lying face down. Pop knew it was Mark. Pop’s knees buckled as he turned the boy over. It was not Mark but Mom said it took Pop awhile to regain his composure.
Pop was a people person, just like Mom, although he would not admit this to his family or co-workers. Pop’s friends: Giggy, Carl Oprish, Jack Reed, Carlo, Pango, John DiCoco, Carter, Charlie Peach, Moe Fato, Ralph Piero, Chuck Paulkonis, Fishie, Bones, Baldy, Joe Izzy, Eddie Ricci, Woodsy, Uncle John, Ray and Betty Mae and all the O’donnell kids, Squire Wilson, …. These people carry a revered status, a high stature for us because Pop valued each friendship. I hesitate to name them for fear of forgetting someone. There are scores more but I like just hearing the names of Pop’s friends. As kids, we liked Carter’s visits because he always brought ice cream or candy. Pop let him know every visit he was welcome without treats. Then there is Don Sinclair, the mailman. During Christmastime one year, Pop was passing out Christmas cheer and had to help Don finish delivering the mail when they both had one shy of way too many. And I did forget some of Pop’s friends, Gwyn’s kids: Katie, Kerry, Keighley & K.C.. They had to overcome blood ties to be Pop’s friend. That is a pretty hard thing to accomplish in this family. And to Elaine and all the subsequent caregivers who took care of and cared for Pop, thank you for your kindness. Gwyn, Mark, Greg & Matt each had their own individual friendship with Mom & Pop which worked for them and strengthened my familial ties all around.
Pop adopted and followed the futures of all the Steubenville kids. Mark Bahen is one of those and I want to thank him for his silent, muffled tears at Mom’s funeral. They are more valuable to me and my family than any gold or silver. Michael Ondaatje, author of The English Patient, in his novel The Cat’s Table says we are expanded by tears, not reduced by them. There were many opportunities to be expanded by tears growing up on the hilltop at Belleview Boulevard: After breaking the garage window pane for the umpteenth time by bouncing a ball off the garage and missing the wall, for tearing up the back yard grass playing baseball (Pop told Mark to get the pick and Mark thought he was saying that we get a pick of our punishment, so Mark just stood there waiting for the options. Mark found out that Pop did not mean to get the tool next week, he meant now). Or when we got the belt in one of the innumerable argument/fights over who knows what. Tears helped us to accept Pop’s limitations when he got sick shortly after Mom died.
Pop knew how people were connected and related. Pop did this same thing with the boys that Greg coached in Kentucky. He would go to one of Greg’s Kentucky high school football games and he adopted and knew the histories of these new kids and all the coaching staff. I wished I had Pop’s eyes. He saw and knew more than I could ever hope to know.
Who knows why Pop lived so long in such an incapacitated state? I think it was more than just old school, bull-headedness. Pop continuously studied and learned life lessons; both the practical, religious and ethereal. He had a special, life gift. He brought our pet dog, Nasty, back to life when the dog had a heart attack. He gave the dog mouth-to-muzzle CPR before it was commonplace to attempt animal resuscitation.
It was getting near the end of the working day when I was working for a concrete company, that I got a call from a youngish, construction foreman looking for his first of three to four mixers for a job at Ft. Lee, near Petersburg, Virginia. “Where’s my truck?” he angrily asked. Like many companies in this day and age, companies want a lot of work done in a short amount of time but do not hire enough people to get all this work accomplished. The mixer driver either would not or could not answer my radio calls as to his 10-20 or his whereabouts. The busy plant manager also was not answering my phone calls as to when that truck had left the yard.
I explained to the foreman that I was sorry that I could not find out exactly where the mixer was. I told him that I sometimes have to make decisions about what I know at the time even when it turns out that information may be incorrect and I was sure he has to do the same. But I was confident that he would probably see his first truck within 10-20 minutes and if he didn’t please call back. I assured him that the rest of his order would be filled in according to his desired spacing. That plant was just finishing up a high spec waste water treatment facility job and I knew I would have the required trucks available to satisfy his order. Of course, he was very upset about not getting his first truck at the time it was ordered.
Then he asked me if my father was still living. “Is my father still living?” I was taken aback with that question. I thought to myself, “What does that have to do with the state of construction affairs?” He continued, “If your father is still living, I liked to shake his hand because he raised you right.” Wow, as an adult, I always knew my father raised us well and as well as he could, but it was nice honor to me and to my father knowing that a stranger could see it as well.
Pop liked musicals and Mitch Millers’ sing-alongs. Kentuckian Wendell Berry, in his short poem entitled “Forty Years”, wrote:
“Life is your privilege, not your belonging,
It is the loss of it, now, that you will be singing.”
Pop would enjoy that singing.
I am honored to be Alexander Martin Ulasiewicz, Jr.
No Man is an Island/For Whom the Bell Tolls
by John Donne
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
I got a fortune cookie once that said “Life must be lived forward but can only be understood backwards.” Thanks to Mom & Pop we can go forward eagerly because of the treasured past they provided for us.
Born 9/8/1930. Died 5/12/2017 about 18:20 in Charlotte
First, I want to thank Pop for the world that he created for me at 1429 Belleview Boulevard; that world was carried with me wherever I went. Pop’s influence was always there with me whether I wanted it or not. Pop knew the kind of world he wanted for his kids and worked hard to get his message through to young, thick heads. Perhaps, his military service in Korea is where his view of the world became crystallized. He wanted to live in a world where free-thinking people could make informed decisions, not a world where a certain few misguided people would determine their subjects’ destiny. Thank you, Pop, for the 20th century. Now it is our job to keep the 21st century going so that there will be a 22nd.
As I write this eulogy for my father, I feel that my father will probably outlive me. He has amazing physical strength and strength of character. Still, I need to get into words what my father means to me. I like words and stories to educate and tell me of the world and of my place in the world. Mom’s reverence for words was for the word standing alone. “That’s a good Scrabble word,” she would say. And that is how she saw and treated the world; being made up of individuals. I believe Pop saw the world from more of a wide angle lens. He liked to see ball teams working together for a common goal. He liked to see families in church; the Albaranos, the McCoys, the Provenzanos, the Barbers, the Bahens, the Carincis, the Carapellottis, the Constantinis, the Dysons. Though individually they may be flawed, together, seated as a family unit in a church pew--perfect.
For the most part, Pop was a man of few words. He put high value on what was spoken. He wanted words to have high meaning. Those words, though, would have to be supported by one’s actions. That would be the basis of the high value and meaning. In that sense, he would prefer an elegy; a poetic lamentation. Pop was a man of high ideals which he could expound on at length. But at the same time, he really would not want anyone to make a big to-do over him.
I was five or no more than six when I started learning valuable lessons from my father. Mom was sick in the hospital and Pop had all the kids kneel down in the upstairs hall near the crucifix to pray for Mom. I remember Pop wiping his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to hold back tears. I learned that my father loved my mother. I also learned the power of prayer for a common cause. Though Pop had trouble saying it, I knew that he loved me and I was a wanted child. I felt like I had a big advantage. It did not matter what the outside world wanted from me or whether the world wanted me at all. I love my father way more than he would let me tell him.
After church one day, a couple of grade school classmates, two brothers, were bad-mouthing their father complaining of their father’s alcoholism and his not being around to help the family. Pop could not stand all that negativism. He cut them off, acknowledging that all they said may be true but that man is still their father and deserves at least that respect. That’s where I learned the definition of respect. Although respect can be and it is a great thing when earned through actions, it is best for everyone when it given freely to each and every person, whether it is deserved or not. That is where everybody wins. Pop even had a certain, quiet, subdued respect when talking about Crazy Mary, the old Polish lady that loudly rambled on, in her native language about who knows what, wherever she went.
When we complained about the cold or the hot weather, Pop always said that we have to be sturdy stock. I did not know and do not know much about genetics; but I knew that this wasn’t my fault. Pop, this one is on you and Mom. It took many years for it sink in that he was telling us that you become sturdy stock by developing, then maintaining a strong mind and a strong body.
Pop was a thinker. It was a joy to watch those wheels turn in his measured, decision-making process. I knew my father loved us all even though he had a hard time showing it. Mom let us know the depth of his love for his kids. Mom was smart. She knew we needed to know, just in case Pop’s sternness kept us from seeing his love for us. Mark was a handful going through his teenage years. One night at the firehouse, Pop’s company responded to an automobile wreck. The teenage victim was lying face down. Pop knew it was Mark. Pop’s knees buckled as he turned the boy over. It was not Mark but Mom said it took Pop awhile to regain his composure.
Pop was a people person, just like Mom, although he would not admit this to his family or co-workers. Pop’s friends: Giggy, Carl Oprish, Jack Reed, Carlo, Pango, John DiCoco, Carter, Charlie Peach, Moe Fato, Ralph Piero, Chuck Paulkonis, Fishie, Bones, Baldy, Joe Izzy, Eddie Ricci, Woodsy, Uncle John, Ray and Betty Mae and all the O’donnell kids, Squire Wilson, …. These people carry a revered status, a high stature for us because Pop valued each friendship. I hesitate to name them for fear of forgetting someone. There are scores more but I like just hearing the names of Pop’s friends. As kids, we liked Carter’s visits because he always brought ice cream or candy. Pop let him know every visit he was welcome without treats. Then there is Don Sinclair, the mailman. During Christmastime one year, Pop was passing out Christmas cheer and had to help Don finish delivering the mail when they both had one shy of way too many. And I did forget some of Pop’s friends, Gwyn’s kids: Katie, Kerry, Keighley & K.C.. They had to overcome blood ties to be Pop’s friend. That is a pretty hard thing to accomplish in this family. And to Elaine and all the subsequent caregivers who took care of and cared for Pop, thank you for your kindness. Gwyn, Mark, Greg & Matt each had their own individual friendship with Mom & Pop which worked for them and strengthened my familial ties all around.
Pop adopted and followed the futures of all the Steubenville kids. Mark Bahen is one of those and I want to thank him for his silent, muffled tears at Mom’s funeral. They are more valuable to me and my family than any gold or silver. Michael Ondaatje, author of The English Patient, in his novel The Cat’s Table says we are expanded by tears, not reduced by them. There were many opportunities to be expanded by tears growing up on the hilltop at Belleview Boulevard: After breaking the garage window pane for the umpteenth time by bouncing a ball off the garage and missing the wall, for tearing up the back yard grass playing baseball (Pop told Mark to get the pick and Mark thought he was saying that we get a pick of our punishment, so Mark just stood there waiting for the options. Mark found out that Pop did not mean to get the tool next week, he meant now). Or when we got the belt in one of the innumerable argument/fights over who knows what. Tears helped us to accept Pop’s limitations when he got sick shortly after Mom died.
Pop knew how people were connected and related. Pop did this same thing with the boys that Greg coached in Kentucky. He would go to one of Greg’s Kentucky high school football games and he adopted and knew the histories of these new kids and all the coaching staff. I wished I had Pop’s eyes. He saw and knew more than I could ever hope to know.
Who knows why Pop lived so long in such an incapacitated state? I think it was more than just old school, bull-headedness. Pop continuously studied and learned life lessons; both the practical, religious and ethereal. He had a special, life gift. He brought our pet dog, Nasty, back to life when the dog had a heart attack. He gave the dog mouth-to-muzzle CPR before it was commonplace to attempt animal resuscitation.
It was getting near the end of the working day when I was working for a concrete company, that I got a call from a youngish, construction foreman looking for his first of three to four mixers for a job at Ft. Lee, near Petersburg, Virginia. “Where’s my truck?” he angrily asked. Like many companies in this day and age, companies want a lot of work done in a short amount of time but do not hire enough people to get all this work accomplished. The mixer driver either would not or could not answer my radio calls as to his 10-20 or his whereabouts. The busy plant manager also was not answering my phone calls as to when that truck had left the yard.
I explained to the foreman that I was sorry that I could not find out exactly where the mixer was. I told him that I sometimes have to make decisions about what I know at the time even when it turns out that information may be incorrect and I was sure he has to do the same. But I was confident that he would probably see his first truck within 10-20 minutes and if he didn’t please call back. I assured him that the rest of his order would be filled in according to his desired spacing. That plant was just finishing up a high spec waste water treatment facility job and I knew I would have the required trucks available to satisfy his order. Of course, he was very upset about not getting his first truck at the time it was ordered.
Then he asked me if my father was still living. “Is my father still living?” I was taken aback with that question. I thought to myself, “What does that have to do with the state of construction affairs?” He continued, “If your father is still living, I liked to shake his hand because he raised you right.” Wow, as an adult, I always knew my father raised us well and as well as he could, but it was nice honor to me and to my father knowing that a stranger could see it as well.
Pop liked musicals and Mitch Millers’ sing-alongs. Kentuckian Wendell Berry, in his short poem entitled “Forty Years”, wrote:
“Life is your privilege, not your belonging,
It is the loss of it, now, that you will be singing.”
Pop would enjoy that singing.
I am honored to be Alexander Martin Ulasiewicz, Jr.
No Man is an Island/For Whom the Bell Tolls
by John Donne
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
I got a fortune cookie once that said “Life must be lived forward but can only be understood backwards.” Thanks to Mom & Pop we can go forward eagerly because of the treasured past they provided for us.
Message from John Franckhauser
May 18, 2017 1:39 PM
May his dear soul rest in peace. And may the family be consoled by the grace of God. John Franckhauser
Message from Connie McDonough Cunningham
May 18, 2017 8:21 AM
Sending deepest sympathy for the loss of your father. I will always remember Mr. U's warm smile and gentleness. God Bless and Prayers, Connie
A candle was lit by Theresa Stotler
on May 17, 2017 10:48 PM
Message from Theresa Czaruk Stotler
May 17, 2017 10:46 PM
Gwen, my deepest sympathy to you and your brothers on the passing of your father. Your father was one in a million. What a great sense of humor.as I recall many of the visits, when he and your mom would come to see my parents. Although we never saw a lot of each other it just was that family closeness. Wish I could express my sympathy in person, but you will be in my thoughts. May His Memory be Eternal.
Message from Brenda Young-Powley
May 17, 2017 10:51 AM
Dear Matt - My deepest sympathy to you and your family.
Message from bunny and dave zapolnik
May 16, 2017 3:33 PM
Gywnn,Matt,Bo and Gregg, Saddened to hear of the passing of Alex,He was a excellent teacher to us younger firefighters and always led by example,always learned something daily from him ......may he rest in peace
Message from Annie Kate
May 16, 2017 2:26 PM
Our hearts are broken on Earth but I know smiles are surrounding you in Heaven now that you are with Maama and Mark. Knowing you are watching over us always, I hope we can make you as proud of us as we are to have had you as our grandfather. Your courage was immeasurable, your faith unwavering, and your love for us amazing.
A candle was lit by Paula Linn Krechowski
on May 16, 2017 11:16 AM
A candle was lit by Denise Glasser
on May 15, 2017 5:51 PM
A candle was lit by John A Ulasiewicz
on May 15, 2017 2:10 PM
Gwyn, Bo, Greg and Matt;
You all have my deepest sympathies at the passing of your Father and my Uncle. He was a great person to me. I visited him and Aunt Til often when I was in town or passing thru and he always had an encouraging word for me. They were very proud of all of you and he was also proud of me and my siblings. We had many great times together and I will miss him dearly. T here were two men that came into my life and made it better and he was one of them, I will always remember him. I is now in heaven and reunited with Aunt Til and Mark and they are all watching over us all.
Cousin John
Gwyn, Bo, Greg and Matt;
You all have my deepest sympathies at the passing of your Father and my Uncle. He was a great person to me. I visited him and Aunt Til often when I was in town or passing thru and he always had an encouraging word for me. They were very proud of all of you and he was also proud of me and my siblings. We had many great times together and I will miss him dearly. T here were two men that came into my life and made it better and he was one of them, I will always remember him. I is now in heaven and reunited with Aunt Til and Mark and they are all watching over us all.
Cousin John
Message from Michelle Tedreau
May 15, 2017 10:38 AM
My deepest sympathies in the passing of your Father, He and Woodsie had many good times together and now are reunited with all their other firefighter brothers in God's kingdom. May God bless you all at this very difficult time.
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