Dziadziu, in Polish, means Grandfather.
My Mom’s family lived in Manayunk, a section of Philadelphia, and “Dziadziu” on East Street was always referred to as that to distinguish him from my Dad’s dad, or my other Dziadziu.
Dziadziu on East Street was a kind man, and very patient.Some of my finest memories of my childhood are sitting with him on the bench in the back yard and him letting me babble on.He would let me sit with him and count the freckles on his balding head and chuckle about it.
Today, 46 years ago, he left me quite suddenly.Pneumonia took him from us in three quick days.We were all in shock.I have no doubt that he is with my Babci, Grandmother, in heaven.That is their wedding picture in this post. They were married in 1920 and he passed away in December 1970, a little of 50 years later.
It’s a good way to wrap up this year, remembering him and his life.He was a good guy.
I miss you everyday, Dziadziu, and will love you forever.