Eulogy
David James Petronovich Memorial Piece -Written by his Grandma Linda Payne Smith
Losing my first male grandchild is the worst thing that can happen to a loving grandmother. Not only do I endure the pain of his loss, but the horrific grief of his parents, John, Lisa and Tina, and his sisters, Amy and Jennifer. But this is not our story, it is David’s story told through a grandmother’s eyes.
David came into this world the summer of 1986 at a whopping 10-plus pounds, born to John and Lisa. They named him after his two grandfathers. No one in the family had seen such a baby, and fragile he was not. As I remember, David was an easy-going baby, docile and always happy once his needs were met.
As he blossomed from toddler-hood to school age, he lost his baby fat, never to see it again. His step-mom, Tina, took him under her wing as a loving parent when he was five. By that age, he had been fishing for 3 years, because his dad spent quality time with him, teaching him what he himself loved to do. What probably neither of them realized is that they come from a long line of grandfathers and great uncles who loved to fish, on my father’s side of the family.
David was an excellent student, quiet, compliant and focused. He was shy for the most part, but not with his four cousins and little sister, also in his age bracket. All of these cousins and siblings, ages 2-7, would come over to my house every few months for a weekend sleepover. I always planned a theme, such as “Dinosaur Day” which included stories, songs, art projects, creative play, and maybe a walk to 7-11 to get an ice cream bar. It meant pizza for dinner, with milk and dessert, and bacon and eggs for breakfast the next morning. They all slept 5-across on the queen-size sofa-bed in my den in oversized t-shirts that matched. If we needed more room, there was always the floor or love seat. The group loved to play school in the living room with small chairs and stack tables as desks. Cousin Erica, the oldest girl, was always the teacher; her students ranged between 2 and 7. I was the “principal” in the other room, probably on my computer. The teacher often sent the naughty 2 or 3 year-olds to me with a note saying they were not paying attention to anything the teacher said. I took them, as needed, and gave them a job, or read to them, or let them play next to me—whatever they wanted. David, of course, was a studious student. The teacher was able to keep her kids doing math worksheets and she insisted that they could not talk without raising their hands first.
Sometimes this group of children wrote plays to act out. I remember David wrote a ghost story, where someone died and came back as a ghost. Everything went well, as the mourners stood around the body, until the 2 ½ year old ad-libbed, “Let us pray.” Where she learned that we will never know. David was confused and did not know how to handle this off-script cousin. He couldn’t get her to stop “praying”, which included anything that came into the 2 ½ year-old’s mind, stream of consciousness. Finally, the prostate body jumped up and yelled “BOO!” And everyone ran off in fear (as scripted) leaving the 2 ½ year-old standing there.
The three boy cousins and three girl cousins did little skits for each other, contorting their bodies to act out the shapes of alphabet letters, or telling jokes, or mimicking animals, whatever they could come up with. The action took place in front of my living room fireplace with the audience on the couch. The children learned to show appreciation by applauding the actors on stage. Sometimes their Great Grandma Lee spent the night with us to watch her great grandchildren at play. Spending time with these children was one of the highlights of my life.
In all the years I have known David, I never heard him say an unkind word, certainly never to me or his cousins or baby sister. He never argued with them or got physical in any way. As he grew older, he pulled away from us a little, but even then, I accepted he was more of a deep thinker than a social being. He always could talk fishing or desert toys when he was with his dad or friends. On the other hand, I had to pull the conversation out of him and once in a great while we could talk a long time about things.
As a grown-up, Dave was an accomplished carpenter, building stair cases, cabinets and bait tanks, for example. I had seen his talent long before in his meticulous artwork as a child. He was maybe a little bit of a perfectionist, taking his time to get it right. While working for his Uncle Eric, he especially loved the jobs down at the pier, close to the fishing boats, where he built custom bait tanks. He earned the respect of boat owners, his Uncle Eric and other co-workers. Even though he was a solitary worker, he enjoyed being part of the team and took gentle chiding with humor. Occasionally he brought in freshly caught fish for his co-workers who greatly appreciated his thoughtfulness. Maybe this is the same kind of thoughtfulness that caused a young man to check the box on his driver’s license to donate his organs.
David and Levi were close friends, through thick and thin times. Levi appreciated who Dave was, and cared for him unconditionally. Dave was apt to share anything in the way of fishing line, bait, or even fishing advice, even to strangers. More than anything, he loved to fish with his dad, who taught him most of what he knew. He also loved the time he spent camping in the desert with his dad and friends using 4-wheelers and other desert toys. He spent a lot of his time riding his bike around Santee. This activity probably gave him the strong legs he needed to pedal his kayak through the surf, to do what he loved the most, fish before dawn at La Jolla Shores.
What I learned and didn’t know about David by reviewing his Facebook pages, was that he took his mom, Lisa, kayaking and cooked her great fish dinners. He had a history of spending quality time with his parents. I learned he liked to be called “Dave” (but he will always be “David” to me). I learned he loved photography, especially sunrises and sunsets. He loved sharing pictures of small, large, colorful fish—any kind of fish, that sometimes he threw back, if not edible. He took pictures of the garden he planted in his backyard and the vegetable it produced. He shared many selfies in his beloved kayak or rubber raft; showing off his true love of nature. He showed us videos of his struggles to catch a big one, or gently talking to a manta ray looking for bait, appreciating the creature by calling him “buddy,” while he observed the ray’s behavior in the wild then watched him swim away.
The main lesson we can learn from David’s life, is “do what you love to do.” Make it fit in to your life as often as you can. If it gives you solace and a sense of well-being, do more of it. David had a rich life because he had the love and acceptance of family and real friends. David was individualistic. He enjoyed his family in his own time, in his own way. (He only missed Christmas Eve at my house once in 32 years). David knew we loved him, and I know he loved us, even though he may not have been demonstrative about it.
We will miss you, David, more than you could have ever guessed. I applaud you for living the life you wanted with your hobbies and love of nature always pulling you toward your family and true friends.
I love you David.
I believe with all my heart that I will be reunited with you some day, and then you can teach your Grandma Linda how to fish.
