Robert O. Cislo: 1932-2005
I just got back from Montana a couple of hours ago. Wish the trip could have been under better circumstances. My grandfather, Bob Cislo, passed away Thursday morning. I flew home to see the family and attend his rosary and funeral the next morning.Grandpa Cislo was, without a doubt, the most humble man I've ever met in my entire life. He and Grandma grew up next door to each other and started dating when they were both thirteen. They married about seven years later. He spent a few years in the Air National Guard and Air Force before settling down to start a family. Grandma and Grandpa were blessed with five children, all of them girls.
Once grandkids came around, he made sure to come to all of our games, recitals, and whatever else we happened to do. He was an avid Great Falls High School fan and attended every sporting event the school subscribed to. One spring a number of years ago, GFH's girls softball team was playing in the middle of a snowstorm. The umps couldn't call the game apparently because it was a playoff. The players all donned earmuffs and gloves as the slid around the field. On the news that night, as the camera spanned the crowd, it found just one fan sitting in the bleachers--no parents, no students, just Grandpa. And no one in our family even plays softball.
Grandpa wasn't without his health problems, though. He had three heart attacks and something apparently called "Sudden Death Syndrome," which left him comatose for a few days. When I received the news, I was glad to learn that he'd simply fallen asleep in his recliner with his plaid blanket--no pain, no suffering...just woke up in Heaven.
As per his and Grandma's plans, he was cremated early Saturday. Grandma put his ashes in the perfect urn--a white cookie jar. Today we laid him to rest in a mausoleum in Mount Olivet cemetary in Great Falls, the city of his birth.
The one up side: Kendra and Kirsten attended their winter prom on Saturday. K&K are eight and nine years younger than I am, respectively. I've been in Minnesota for prom every year. This year I finally got to see them off, though it was under rather unfortunate circumstances. 
Anyway, it's been a roller coaster week. Grandpa dies, get to see family, have to go to the funeral, get to see the girls at prom, and I actually just learned that my favorite priest at Carroll has passed. I hope finals are at least consistent, if nothing else.
posted by Your Friendly Neighborhood Clark Bar at 12/05/2005 11:21:00 PM
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6 Comments:
My condolences, Brett.
Your sisters are beautiful.
Wow, I'm really sorry. Still, you're right, it sounds like it was peacefull.
Yeah. I'll agree with that. They took all the good genes.
Brett, I am so sorry to hear about your Grandfather's passing. I know what a blow that can be. I am glad that you could be with your family during that time, being near family always helps.
Good luck with your finals.
Alex R.
The three grandparents I knew died when I was about your age, so I understand and sympathize.
I know the loss of your favorite priest isn't as great, but you must have held him in high regard to have mentioned him with your grandfather.
My favorite teacher died about a year ago. He was a Franciscan priest who taught me physics and ninth and eleventh grade math. He was a gentle man who appreciated questions, but had an aura of infallibility about him. The general wisdom was not to challenge him if he was willing to bet. Well, in freshman algebra I saw a mistake he made on the board. His quick response to my question was "Do you want to bet?" All heads turned, including those deep in sleep on their desks, to see who would be stupid enough to make a bet with Fr. Blaise. I hesitated, then agreed. It was a Franciscan seminary, so instead of money, we bet desserts. To the groans and sneers of my classmates, we finalized the terms at one dessert. After I showed him the error, he looked at the board for the longest ten seconds of my life. Instead of correcting my foolishness, he agreed.
That evening, in one of the highlights of my sheltered teens, the never utilized doors separating the student and faculty dining rooms parted, and Fr. Blaise stepped into our room just far enough to place a dish of butterscotch pudding on front of me.
I met him several times since graduation. The last of these, about five years ago, I had the crushing experience of realizing that he hardly remembered me. My pride and vanity forces me to think that a man in his late seventies can't remember every student on a moment's notice, and that surely the event of the only time a student beat him in a bet was emblazed as firmly in his mind as it was in mine.
The sorrow of mourning such wonderful people can be eased by expressing our thankfulness for the time shared with them.
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