Thread by @jakequery

I have a huge favor to ask. It won’t cost you a cent, you won’t have to go anywhere, and it won’t take any longer than it will take to read this. It is for the people you see pictured below. I never met them. But, I’d like to introduce you. Thanks for reading this thread.

Earlier today, I was driving near the Indianapolis Hebrew Congregation Cemetery, and realized it’s the final resting place of a friend. I pulled in. There was one other person in the cemetery- sitting next to a headstone, with a large water jug. I quietly nodded and asked how he

was. Dumb question, I guess- we were in a cemetery. He looked at me, and, in a heavy accent, touched his chest and replied. “I am broken hearted.”
I walked over and we began to chat. Michael Grin. A veteran of the Russian Army, who came to the United States 21 years ago.
Here

he sat, at the resting place of both his parents. His Mother died 7 months ago today.
Michael told me their story. His mother, Gitla was born in central Russia in 1929. Her father was killed by the Nazis in the Battle of Stalingrad, and her family, like many Russian Jews, sought

refuge in far Eastern Russia. Eventually, she met Tulia, who Michael says was the “smartest man in the world” and worked in a furniture shop. Tulia’s family were also refugee survivors of the Nazi Russian invasion.
Gitla held a number of jobs, notably as a seamstress and fancy

dress maker- but most importantly as a loving and devoted mother to Michael and his sister. After Michael’s service in the Army, he decided to immigrate to the US, and his service allowed him the ability to have his parents join.
Tulia passed in 2019, leaving Gitla a widow. It

created some tension between Michael & his sister, as, once Gitla’s dementia set in, the discussions began over whether or not Michael & his sister should send Gitla to a nursing home. Michael refused. “I stayed with her every day. Whatever she need. Bathed her, changed her. But

her mind- it go”, he told me. He stayed with her until the day she passed, 7 months ago today.
He visits often, but today, in 90+ heat, he tells me he’d been there most of the afternoon. He brought fresh flowers & a rock, in Jewish tradition, for the headstone. Then he looked at

me. Michael looked deep at me. “Life is sh*t”, he told me. “You live and then bang. You die. And you are gone. You vanish.”
I asked Michael if I could take a picture of his parents’ stone- so their existence would be known to one more person. Proof they haven’t vanished. “Would

you?”, he asked with a perk.
“What”, I asked, if I shared the picture & asked everyone tonight to, for a moment, think of your parents?”
Michael, who 20 years ago changed his last name was from its customary Russian spelling to “Grin” illustrated his sir name as bright as the

sun drenched sky. “People will know of them!” he beamed. Then, he took the cap off his water jug to wash my hands, a Jewish custom after a cemetery visit.
“Please share them!”

So this is where I ask for the favor.
Tonight, at some point, simply smile for Gitla & Tulia Grin.

Russians who survived the Nazis, came to the US and raised a son that defines love and loyalty.
Keep their name alive, for the son who rinsed my hands after our visit.
All while insisting his memories are never wiped away.