The Pearly Gates

A serious face for a serious blog.

It wasn't a good start to the holidays. We had to say good-bye to someone that Tresa had known all her life. This post is in memory of Stefan Zadravec. Tresa's godfather.

Nice guy. Super nice guy with a big heart. His health was ailing since over a year ago. It's too bad that he had to go so soon. Not really getting the chance to get know our son. Or rather our son didn't get the opportunity to really know him. At least where he is now, he's no longer suffering.

It was a beautiful day, the snow covered the grounds like a soft white fleece blanket. The big fluffy flakes seemed to put a quiet hush over the property. When we got to Holy Cross Cemetary at Yonge and #7, the hearse stopped at the farthest corner of the cemetary. I was looking for the mound of dirt indicating the plot. At first I couldn't find it. Then I spotted this small little mound in the tucked away in the farthest corner of the entire cemetary. It must have been almost 100 yds away from where the hearse was parked. Should be no problem I thought for 5 really big strong Euros and 1 skinny filipino. I was counting on them to carry the bulk of the weight. Plus from what I remembered at the funeral parlor and the church, that although Stefan was a big man, it didn't seem too heavy.

After walking halfway to the plot on the uneven ground and stepping on several burial name plaques, my gloves were starting to slip. It was heavy. My brother asked us once when our father past away if we noticed if the casket got heavier. Legend has it that when the spirit or soul leaves for the pearly gates, the body and the casket get heavier. It certainly did feel heavier. But I wasn't going to be the one to cause it to drop.

We eventually got it to it's final resting place and the struggle to get it there was quickly forgotten and the reality of dealing with the loss of a friend, brother, uncle, godfather and loving husband soon set in.

May he rest in peace.

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