Day of the Dead
Today I learned is Día de Muertos in Mexico. This translates to being the Day of the Dead. It sounds quite morbid and dark, but in actuality, it is meant to be a way to celebrate the lives of loved ones that have previously past. I was asked as an ice breaker who I was remembering in a Latino group that I help organize. I had not thought much about this without knowing the meaning of this holiday. Ironically though I did share a story of a loved one earlier today.
I had an interesting conversation with a mentor at work today who described all of the different hats he got to wear. He is a workshop facilitator, coach, strategy consultant, and business development.
I had no idea that he was involved in business development. Ignorantly, I didn’t see how anyone who works in business is in some sort of business development role, even if it is more of a back-office operational role. Historically, I thought it meant only sales. It means a lot more than that.
My grandpa was the king of sales and business development. It means to be consultative while developing business. To ask questions and find potential problems at hand and propose ways that they can be solved.

My grandpa found problems and solved them. I called him Dzidzia because he is of Polish descent. He always knew how to create value even in the simplest of terms. We would be at the arcade up in northern Michigan at the local Big Boy. My parents refused to support the silly games. Dziadzia made a business proposal out of it with me and my other cousins. He would give me quarters in exchange for minutes of back massages in the near future. Sometimes we would have to give a down payment of massaging his back at the arcade but usually, he was instantly open to talking business anytime we were at the arcade. He was our go-to guy. Both sides of the transaction would win. This is business at its core.
My Dziadzia was a very intelligent man. I would love to have another conversation with him today. I vividly remember my last phone call with him on the patio of a Texas Roadhouse in Florida on spring break, and I was on the patio waiting with my family for a dinner table. It was a very brief conversation about the weather and how he was watching our dog Burgee. He was the best Portuguese water dog there ever was and Dziadzia loved to spoil him with kielbasa sausages. This conversation didn’t really mean anything, and I never told him I loved him, which is a regret I can never take back. I never knew this would be the last time I would speak with him. He had a heart attack on April 1st, 2006.

It was his time to journey into heaven, where I know he is having eating limitless Krispy Kreme doughnuts with Basia. I am still indebted to him for at least over an hour of back massages for the arcade money, he graciously bargained me for the games at Big Boy up north. I look back now and see how much of an impact in the first 10 years of my life that he has made on me today. He would have done anything for family. He was generous with his time with loved ones and cherished it like I was the light of his life. I forevermore wish I could have taken more advantage of his wisdom as I make my way into adulthood.

Whenever I vacation in the family cottage he constructed on Walloon Lake, I feel his presence. It is surrounded by countless books on his interests including automobiles, Polish traditions, handguns, and war stories. I sense his company driving his yellow 2002 Jeep- the first car that challenged me to drive a stick shift. His sense of protecting his family is showcased by the fact that there is a bomb shelter in the basement of the cottage.

Dziadzia was a successful self-made man, who was ambitiously ruthless at sales and a globally driven businessman who could speak Polish, English, German, and Russian. I wish I could hear his courageous stories while growing up, being part of the Polish underground, and pursuing the American Dream. I hold dear the impact he made on me and his stories in my memory forever. I love you and miss you Dziadzia ❤ (1/10/29–4/1/06).
