Gedo, A Personal Hero

Today I'm celebrating my Gedo's life, my amazing grandfather who passed away on October 31 of last year. I remember as kids he used to impress us by doing chin ups on the apple tree, and then scare us by making us try to "catch" his biceps as he flexed. I remember him as the grandfather who, in his 80s, climbed up on the roof to shovel snow off, who walked miles every day, who had the most amazing garden, who sang in Ukrainian, and who knew EVERYONE in town (and if he didn't know them he would just start talking to them like he did). He was 88 when he passed away, and was in excellent shape and health almost to the very end. That's how I want to be when I'm in my 80s.

But beyond my own idyllic memories of Gedo, he lived a life full of hardships, trials, and happiness that bears repeating and honoring so I wanted to share them. A lot of this is summarized from his obituary, which was summarized from the many stories he'd shared with my mom and uncle growing up.

Gedo, John, was born in 1922 on the family farm in western Ukraine, and grew to be a bright and articulate boy being groomed for the priesthood. Then World War II erupted, his two brothers were forced into the military, and the family farm was seized by the Stalinists. John joined the Ukrainian undergound at the age of 14. He told my mom how he used to run papers between villages. One night he was spotted by two Russian occupiers on horseback. He ran, barely avoiding the machine gun bullets hitting the rocks at his heels.

Eventually the underground was betrayed and he was sentenced for life in a Siberian work camp. While awaiting transport he was held a detention camp. The Germans were advancing on the area so the Russians told the prisoners they could go free. For some reason John stayed in his cell with his friend. As the gates opened and the other prisoners ran out, he could hear the rounds of machine guns firing and the fleeing prisoners screaming. After waiting for silence, he and his friends carefully made their way out of the prison past the piles of bodies.

While passing through a nearby village, John and his friend were cornered by the new German occupiers and rounded up for a march to a Nazi concentration camp. Well into the march, weak from exhaustion and moving too slowly for the soldiers' liking, John was hit across the back of the head with a rifle and left for dead. He woke up later on a cart piled with dead bodies, climbed down, and continued on the march. At the concentration camp in Germany, he remembered how the guards would taunt the prisoners by throwing an apple core over the fence to trigger a fight and having to eat the crust of bread loaves because the centre was rotten and full of bugs.

Somehow records of John's father, who had served in the Austro-Hungarian Army as a purchasing agent and horse expert for the cavalry, turned up, and John was given the choice to fight on the eastern front for the Germans. The time spent at training the Austrian Alps helped him regain his strength and plan for his return home. In actual skirmishes, he shot at trees because he never knew if one of his brothers was on the other side of the battlefield. Eventually he was able to break away from his battalion to see his parents. It was the last time he ever saw them. His brothers were still missing and the Soviets were now pushing the Germans back, so he had to head for Germany. Except this time he was shot in the back of the leg by a sniper and was hospitalized in Austria.



Venezuela (Gedo on left)

After recovering he worked briefly for a small farm in Austria. Through the US-occupied portion of Germany he was able to apply for refugee status and opted to move to Venezuela to work for Shell Oil clearing jungle. He spent six years there before applying for sponsorship to Canada, where he spent two years as a lumberjack in Montreal and then two years on a farm in Saskatchewan. Upon completing his obligation he joined the Canadian National Railroad, laying track until he met my Baba, Helen and married in 1955.



Baba & Gedo

He did lots of side jobs as a carpenter, building graineries, churches, even his own house, digging the basement by hand! But he was always a farmer. Even when he ended up settling down in a small town with a regular sized yard, he built that yard into one of the most bountiful and beautiful gardens you could imagine. Whenever we visited in the summer he'd feed us fruits and veggies fresh from the vine. Whenever I work in my garden now I can understand how he found so much joy in his garden. There is something fulfilling, peaceful, and amazing about working with the earth.

When you think of everything he'd been through, it's a miracle that he found so much joy in life, in family, in his garden. But he did, and I couldn't be prouder to call him my Gedo. Hopefully I'm making him proud, wherever he's watching from.


Gedo & his garden