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Gregory P. Kocieniewski
Gregory P. Kocieniewski
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Gregory Kocieniewski Obituary
This obituary was originally published in the Buffalo News.
3060 Abbott Rd, Orchard Park, NY 14127
People and places connected with Gregory
Recent Obituaries
Recent Obituaries
Recent Obituaries
MaryJo cretacci
December 16, 2006
My sweet Greg
I just wan't you to know how much I miss you. I think about you all the time. It's 2 years now you been gone but to me it was just like yesterday you pass a way. you alwasy be my love of my life.
I see you in my dreams my dearest Greg
Love alwasy
Mary Jo
Suzie
November 14, 2006
Greggy,
Miss you so much, even more around your birthday and the holidays. Life is not the same without you here...I can't stop wanting to call you to come over for dinner, and I often think of your bravery and sense of humor as you faced your future. You are a hero.
IM2 FF,
Suzie
MaryJO cretacci
December 15, 2005
My sweet Greg,
I wan't you to know how much I'am missing you. this has beem the moist difficult week for me. I want you to know that you will always be the love of my life. I will see you in my dreams my sweet love.
love always and for ever
Mary Jo
Linda Kocieniewski
October 22, 2005
Sweet Brother,
Thinking of you today and missing you so much on your birthday, the first birthday that you are not with us. I miss you every day. We all love you and think of you often. Please watch over your new little niece. I wish she could have met you, and I know she would have loved you. You are now her Guardian Uncle. I know that you are in a better place, and that you are being rewarded for all of the goodness and love that you shared in your life. We were blessed to have you as our brother. Sending you lots of love this birthday and always, Your Big Sis
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Mary Jo Cretacci
March 13, 2005
Honey,
Even though I think about you all the time and miss you every day, I know that I will see you in "our special place".
I will never stop loving you. You are the love of my life and always will be!
I see you in my dreams - and that, for now is our special place.
With all my love-
Maryjo
Suzie
March 9, 2005
Dear Greg,
Even though I know your suffering is over, I still think of you and miss you more every day.
I'll plant a row of radishes for you when the rhododendron begins to bloom.
I M 2.
Love, Suzie
Claudia White
January 12, 2005
SO Sorry to hear about the passing of Greg. My thoughts and prayers are with you during this difficult time.
I wish I could have been there to represent my family however the distance made that impossible.
Inez Mirco
January 10, 2005
Dear Sue,
I was so sorry to hear about your brother. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.
David Kocieniewski
January 5, 2005
A Eulogy for Greg
(Delivered at Greg's funeral, December 20, 2004, by his brother David)
My brother Greg first found out he had a brain tumor on November 27th, 2002. Long before anyone had suspected that Greg might be sick, that was a date I had been dreading – because it was my 40th birthday and I hadn’t been particularly excited about the prospect of life on the other side of The Big Four-Oh.
Then the phone rang, and we learned that Greg -- who was 36 at the time -- was in the hospital, partially-paralyzed, and would need an emergency craniotomy.
Greg always did have a knack for helping other people put their petty worries into perspective.
The news of Greg’s illness came about so suddenly, that I don’t think it really sunk in until two days later, which - that year - was Thanksgiving. Greg was in his bed at Sisters Hospital awaiting his surgery, and about 10 minutes into Thanksgiving Dinner, when I went to refill my plate, I was bewildered to find myself standing next to the turkey carcass alone. In all my 40 years, I’d never before gone to get a second helping without finding Greg already there ahead of me -- digging in. Smiling that big, beaming smile.
Those of you who know Greg well know that he is legendary for the way he ate – with tenacity, stamina, endurance and sheer joy. We used to kid him about it, and he kidded himself. But I never realized how thoroughly his world view had been shaped by his love affair with the knife & fork until he came to visit me in Brooklyn about 10 years ago. He stayed for three days and when he left, the restaurants of New York looked as though they’d just been ravaged by a cloud of locusts. A few months later, I saw Greg back in Buffalo and overheard him describing his trip to a friend.
Now some people who visit New York City are wowed by the crowds or the buildings. Others rave about the architecture or the rats; the graffiti or the grand museums.
Greg had a slightly different description. “You got Chinatown here, Little Italy there, Mexican, and Tex-Mex and Korean. There’s Greek diners, and corned beef and bagels and lox, lox, lox. I TRIED
to eat it all. But they just kept making MORE!”
In the past two years, however, as I’ve watched Greg’s brave fight against cancer, I’ve come to realize that his appetite was more than just a marvel and a punch line. It was one of the virtues that allowed him to live such a rich, uplifting life: he never took any thing, any meal -- or anyone -- for granted. And he never failed to appreciate life’s simple, lasting pleasures.
Greg loved music. He loved trees and dogs and even hamsters. He loved reading and science and philosophy - he was fascinated by watching the world work and took great delight in trying to figure out what made it tick. He truly relished every moment he got to spend with his family and friends. And if anyone ever brought a child into the room, it was astounding to watch how they were instantly drawn to Greg. As if they shared some profound, unspoken secret.
Greg loved to laugh, at himself and other people. And if you ever tried to pull a fast one over on Greg, he had this way of calling you on it, and joking about it, without sounding judgmental or making you feel bad. He had this optimism and innocence about him – even in his late 30s, people still called him “Greggy” - but he was not naïve: he had the ability to see through so much, and live through so much, yet to hope for much more.
He grew up in a family of six children, and every one of us will tell you he was without a doubt the easiest to get along with. If my siblings and I had been a high school graduating class – and, come to think of it, we outnumber some high school graduating classes - Greg would have easily been voted Mr. Personality and Mr. Popularity. Because he was such a joy to be with, and he had no interest in pretense.
That turned out to be a blessing, because he also had no time for it.
You see, long before he developed his brain tumor, when he was at college, Greg was forced to confront another devastating medical problem – mental illness. At first, we thought Greg’s odd behavior might just be some strange, Bohemian phase he was going through. He’d walk around quoting outrageous philosophers, wearing sandals in February. One day he burst into my hockey team’s locker room playing a guitar with three strings, singing “Afraid to live, afraid to die, afraid to eat a lemon pie!”
But after a few torturous years in and out of hospitals and city missions and treatment centers, it was clear that Greg had a medical condition. A bad roll of the genetic dice that would profoundly affect the rest of his life. He was barely 20 years old, an age when most kids are partying and traveling and chasing girls and planning some grand, boundless future. And Greg all of a sudden had to concern himself with psych meds and chemical imbalances and support groups. He had to figure out whether it was still possible to build a life worth living.
Some people might have been crushed by all the limitations that had suddenly landed on Greg. They might have sunk into despair or self-destructiveness. Remember: Greg was barely 20 years old when all this happened. At the time, I kept thinking of this cynical line from a David Bowie song: “We only live for 20 years, do we have to die for 50 more?”
But Greg heard another song, and he saw another way. In the yearbook at Canisius High School, where Greg graduated a few years before he first got ill, the quote beneath his senior class photo came from Elvis Costello, one of his favorite musicians. It read: “I used to be disgusted, now I try to be amused.”
When fate put Greg to the test, that is precisely what he did. He didn’t mope. He didn’t moan. He didn’t whine. He acted as though he’d been granted a second helping of life itself.
Greg had to accept the fact that some of his grandest dreams would now be beyond him. He had to give up his aspirations of being a scientist or an explorer, a pilot or an engineer. Instead, he got himself healthy and spent years working at nursing homes, helping the sick and the elderly. And he did it with such tenderness and enthusiasm that patients called Greg "The Candyman," because everyone perked up whenever he came around. On several occasions, when a resident passed away, their relatives would send notes thanking Greg for being such a comfort during their loved one's last days.
Rather than use his own illness as an excuse to slink away into self-pity or isolation, Greg also had the courage to love, and he found the kind of true love most people only hear about in Italian operas. Greg met Mary Jo Crettaci, his fiancée and the love of his life, when both of them were in the hospital. During 11 years together, they have weathered more troubles than most families face in a generation: brain cancer, legionnaire’s disease, countless operations and prescriptions and hospitalizations. Through it all, they have treated each other with an unwavering warmth and devotion that is simply awe-inspiring.
Now they HAVE had their occasional disagreements – like on those Sundays in the fall when there’s a Bills game on TV and Mary Jo wants to watch NASCAR. But she has been such a loyal, loving friend to Greg that I want to say thank you, Mary Jo, for standing by my brother during his darkest hours.
Watching the two of you, it has also been wonderful to see someone else get to share in the gift that Greg has always given to those of us in his family. The fact that no one could make you feel accepted and appreciated the way Greg could. He gave the kind of unconditional love that had the power to change the lives of those around him.
To my mother, who loves him dearly, Greg’s many struggles helped bring her back to her faith. Then it tested that faith. And ultimately it strengthened that faith.
To my sister Linda, a social worker, Greg's compassion for others was an incredible example and a challenge to try and live up to.
To my sister Eileen, a nurse who works with the elderly, Greg’s optimism through all his ordeals have been an inspiration.
My sister Sue, who is also a nurse, has spent much of the past 20 years helping Greg with his various treatments, and says that his calmness and unshakable spirit has helped teach her not to sweat the little stuff. During these past months -- as she has helped Greg through the heartbreaking endstage of his battle with cancer while simultaneously planning her own wedding -- Sue has been the most laid-back Bride-to-Be in history.
My sister Karen – I told you this family was bigger than some high school classes – says that Greg gave her lesson in social graces and the subtle art of conversation: You’re never at a loss for something to talk about as long as there’s a refrigerator or a take out menu nearby.
Then there’s me, who Greg gave -- believe it or not -- the gift of humility.
Way back when Greg first showed signs of mental illness, he came to live with me in Detroit for nearly a year. One day we were walking outside the Detroit News building, where I was working on my oh-so-important career as a journalist - and I was rushing to someplace oh-so-important that I can’t remember where it was - when I glanced next to me and saw that Greg had suddenly disappeared.
“Greg,” I shouted. “Come on! I’m already late!”
When I looked back, there he was, 20 feet behind me, digging his hand into his pocket. My brother -- who had been living on the street just a few months earlier, and didn’t have twenty dollars to his name -- had stopped to give spare change to a homeless man I had walked by without even noticing.
So on this day when we say goodbye to Greg, it’s kind of hard to know what to make of it all. Someday, maybe some philosopher or preacher will be able to explain why it is that someone like Greg – a guy with a pure, golden heart, who gave so much to others - was handed so much undeserved adversity.
Until then, though, I think the best we can do is to look at Greg’s life and try to see things the way he would have. So the next time hardship comes your way, in those moments when you aren’t sure whether to be disgusted or amused -- on days, quite frankly, like today -- imagine what he would have done:
Tell a joke. Try to put you problems in perspective by doing something to help someone else. Give thanks for what you’ve still got. By all means, have something to eat.
And if you feel like a second helping, go ahead – dig in. Just remember to think of my brother Greg.
And please do not forget to smile.
Linda
December 27, 2004
Dear Greg,
You were our shining star, our lighthouse, an Old Soul, and my sweet brother with the Golden Heart. I thank God for letting me be your sister. I miss you more than words can say, and will love you forever. Love always, Linda
A group 0f Friends
December 26, 2004
Dear Mary Jo,
We know we speak for many people when we tell you that we are so sorry for your loss.
Greg and you had a love that many only dream of. We cannot even imagine the void in your life and in your heart! Please remember that Greg will always be in your heart.
He was (is) the kindest most wonderful spirit on earth, and will continue to be in the here-after.
JIM DOYLE
December 21, 2004
DAVE AND FAMILY SORRY FOR YOUR LOSS I FOUND OUT LAST NIGHT. MAY GOD BE WITH GREG ON HIS JOURNEY TO ETERNAL LIFE AND MAY HE BLESS YOUR FAMILY IN YOUR TIME OF SORROW. SINCERLY JAMES J DOYLE II {CLASS OF CHS '80}
Jacci Reed
December 21, 2004
Bob and Family - I am so sorry for your loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you during this very difficult time.
James Rutowski
December 20, 2004
I remember Greg from Canisius High School. Greg and I graduated in 1984. Please pass along my sympathies to your entire family. With deepest sympathies, Jim Rutowski
Michele Kowalski/Waligora
December 20, 2004
Esther,
So sorry to hear about your son. We met at Grampa's (Uncle Harry) funeral. We had a very nice conversation. I was so glad to know him. Your family is in our prayers. God Bless.
Daniel Kocieniewski
December 19, 2004
We are very sad to hear of Greg's passing. Our thoughts and prayers are with all the family.
love, Dan, Elif and Lila
Ken Schmidt
December 19, 2004
Greg, I will always treasure the memories of our trip to Europe...and your inevitable ability to make me smile and laugh. Your final road turn was a tough one, but now you are at your final destination....rest in peace with the angels.
December 19, 2004
Rest in peace, sweet soul.
Jeanette Grimaldi
December 18, 2004
Sorry I wasnt able to attend service, I keeping you in my thoughts and prayer, I often think about you.
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