The Story of Don Breske

Last weekend we had a true celebration of life for my Grandpa Don. His funeral was in January, but it was cold then--both in temperature and in expression--and we wanted his final send-off to be as warm as he was.  I wrote and delivered his eulogy, and though I only managed to squeak out the final paragraph between heavy tears, I felt so honored to get to tell his story. Here it is:

Today I have the honor of talking about the grand life of my grandpa Don. This is the first eulogy I've ever given, and according to google, I'm supposed to start by introducing myself. So Hi, I'm Fritz. Or at least that is what Grandpa called me my whole life. He had nicknames for a lot of the people in his life--Squeaky, Pew-wee, Hoss, Pun'kin, Scooter, Cuddles, Money Bags, Sleeping Jesus, Super Stupid, BoBo and of course, Yogi. Although grandpa didn't have nick names for everyone, he did have a special relationship with everyone here. No matter what he called you, you were probably called upon to be:

a fishing partner,

a player of cards,

a recipient of vegetables from his garden,

a digger of those vegetables from his garden,

a source of some news,

a golf cart riding companion, 

and more.

Everyone here was a character in the story of Don Breske. It's a story that was full of outdoor adventure and hard work, a lot of laughter and even some romance. Grandpa himself was a combination of so many of the characters he loved. He had John Wayne's adventurous spirit, Archie Bunker's sense of humor, Elvis's jet black hair.

First I'll talk about grandpa's adventurous side. When he was younger, he loved to go on family trips, camping in the Black Hills, and fishing for bullheads on Sundays after church. He loved any activity that involved being outside, and his golf cart made this possible for the last 23 years. He took that thing off-roading like it was a rugged ATV. I can't count of the number of times I said to him, "Grandpa, I don't think we can go here" but he would always reassure me that "Nah it's fine." That adventurous spirit caught out with him on a golf cart ride with grandma around Blue Dog Lake a few years ago. He assured her that it would be fine to go over Old Baldie, but sure enough they got stuck on the top and had to call for help. Now that sounds like an adventure. 

Another side to Grandpa that maybe not everyone knows is his romantic side. He first proved this one the day in 1959 when he asked my grandma if she wanted to move to Indiana and get married. She quit her job on the spot and they did. Even after they had 4 kids, grandma and grandpa would pack up the car, just the two of them, and drive to Minnesota for fishing trips together. As they grew older and their kids started having kids, grandpa continued to let grandma know that he loved and appreciated her, leaving her notes around the house, like we one we found recently that said, "Thanks for supper yogi, it was good." 

Whereas grandpa's romantic side might not have been obvious to everyone, his sense of humor was. If you called him on the phone, he often answered as Bill Clinton, George Bush, or more recently, and I quote "White House, Donald speaking." One of my favorite stories relates to his playful relationship with his Dr. Roseth, who always asked him, "When are you going to bring me some fish from Bitter Lake?" One day before an appointment, he had Mom buy 1 single minnow at Fisherman's Village, which he carefully placed in a orange pill bottle. At the appointment, he handed the pill bottle to Dr. Roseth and said, "Here, I finally brought you some fish from Bitter Lake."

Grandpa's story, like all stories, wasn't immune from some some hard times. For Grandpa that mainly came in the form of physical barriers starting with his stroke. I remember sitting in his room at the Rehab facility after his stoke watching a video that Gene Holm had made of him checking on his cattle, with what I remember as, lively commentary. We all laughed at and loved that video but were internally heartbroken thinking that grandpa probably might not be able to keep cattle anymore. Boy were we wrong! Within a year, grandpa had welded a stepladder on to his tractor and got back in the saddle, so to speak. This is just one of many examples of his determination and creative ingenuity that helped him continue to do the things he loved. He was one strong-willed Polack, and I'm so grateful for that.  

As much as his life was a story of adventure, romance, and triumph, he was also interested in learning about other people's stories. Grandpa Don first approached new people with curiosity, not judgement. If left alone at a garage sale, gas station, or Wal-Mart, you'd find Grandpa talking to a stranger and could later recount where that person was from and what they did. His curiosity and question asking not only taught him new things, but it also made people feel good that he cared enough to ask. I'll always appreciate the questions Grandpa asked me about my life in New York City--a world so different from his yet one he genuinely wanted to learn more about. 

Grandpa's story was full and long, though somehow still doesn't feel long enough. But ultimately, the best part of grandpa's story is that it lives on through all of us. We can revisit whenever we want, in our memories of his bright blue eyes, infectious smile, and polish stubbornness. Grandpa, we miss you so much, but just like the cowboys in the Westerns you loved to watch, the story is never really over. You're just riding off into the sunset, on to something better. We'll see you again on the other side.