My dad, Robert “Bob” Gratcyk, died on May 17, 2021.
Thankfully, I was able to be with him for the last several hours of his life. He couldn’t speak. He had trouble breathing. His focus wasn’t there much of the time, but there were hints that he recognized me in his face a few times. And tears in his eyes when he heard me speak of family and how proud of him we all were.
I’m still coming to grips with what his death means and how my life will change now that he is no longer here. Today, Wesley, asked what nostalgia meant. I explained. He asked me for an example and right away my brain reminded me of Christmas three years ago. It was the big family Christmas I had wanted for forever. My wife and much of her family spent the holiday with us. My dad was there too. It warms my soul to remember how happy he was with so many people around, so much food, and so many joyful moments.
One of my dad’s last wishes was to have his death mean something for others through soliciting donations to The Trevor Project. He was as a youth (and even as an adult at times) suicidal because of all the rejection and abuse he experienced because of his sexuality.
My dad told me stories over the years of the abuse and abandonment he faced from family, friends, and spiritual authorities in his life. It started when he was a child and increased throughout his time in school. He hid who he was for decades, until one day, he couldn’t hide his sexuality anymore. He was gay. It cost him nearly everything because those around him shut him out of their lives.
It was that exiling from his social groups, most were people of faith, that was so devastating to him emotionally. My dad was a talented cook and storyteller. He knew how to feed people and throw a get-together. Dad never left a room full of strangers without making at least 1/2 of them his friends.
He loved to travel. It was “in his blood” he would always say. That led to him living and working in Indiana, Ohio, Illinois, Arkansas, Minnesota, and Oklahoma. He also traveled to Central America doing humanitarian aid work for a time.
Dad spent much of his adult life, before getting sick, in the service of others. He was a pastor, author, counselor, playwright, singer, artist, and volunteer.
He slowly found pockets of community that were accepting of him as a gay pastor. Ever the empathetic social one he would give to those in need even if it meant skipping out on his own. He was also a talented listener and great support for many.
I was one of the few that stuck with him after he came out. Then he got sick and it became more and more difficult to stay connected with the pockets of community he found. He lived with my wife and me towards the end. We cherished the time he was able to spend with us and our children. I was his caretaker for many months until he required the full-time care that only a nursing home could give him.
He, in the end, wished others would be able to be spared the pain he knew and knows supporting The Trevor Project can help do just that.
Thank you for taking the time to read his story. Please take a moment to share it online too. I know money is tight these days, so even if you can’t give financially, a mention or share about this project would be much appreciated.
May you rest in peace, Dad. I’m glad you are no longer in pain. I love you and miss you terribly.
– Joel