Last night for the last time we held our precious father as he left us, peacefully, listening to his favorite music and surrounded by the love of the family he created.

John Przybyla was the light in my heart, the most loving, gentle, humble, witty father any girl could ask for

I'll never be the same without him and I’ve been reaching deep to try to find the words to express what an absolute gift he was.
The mark of a truly great father is when all of his kids (4) think *they* were the favorite.

Our memories are the same because he *was* that father.
My sister had the constitution to write a beautiful portrait, which I am amending/adding to here:

These callused bear hands, they’ve been through a lot.
They put 4 kids through college with a lifetime of back breaking work. They threw those 4 kids around our family pool year after year, they rowed us out to the middle of Lake Huron in a blow up boat over and over again.

They gripped the steering wheel from Detroit to Disney at least 10 years in a row. They served their country and the city of Detroit Police force many years ago. They held thousands of science fiction books, they held his 5 grandchildren tenderly.

They whipped out frayed “brag” photos (below) from his wallet, accosting random cashiers with stories about his kids.

They sent the chicken scratch notes, jokes and newspaper clippings we’d get in the mail occasionally to remind us he wanted more time with us.

They chased us around pretending to be the undead, clawing at us while playing his original game "zombie.” They grabbed his old police billy club to go out and find the bad guy who had hurt his daughter.

After asking "want a ride?" they would grab our faces and toss them around while chuckling and saying "face ride face ride!!"

They put on all the goofy hats and silly animal portrait shirts that cracked us up at the sight of this big, burly, tough guy in them.

They waved magic over objects to make them disappear, feigning to be the "great and powerful Swami".

They often robo-dialed us, leaving quippy messages about nothing in particular but always intended to amuse.
In retirement, they fed his chubby pet squirrels from a plastic jug

from our cement porch, usually with a cup of Nestea in the other hand. This happened even in winter, often involving a fur flapped Siberian hat and shorts.

Yesterday, we held those hands for the last time.
We love you so much dad, we will never forget you,

we’ll never be the same without you. We are who we are because of your love and your soul. Now those hands can finally rest in peace. And we will always strive to live by your mantra, "there's very few situations in life you can't laugh your way through."

This ain't one of them Dad, but we promise we'll be laughing again someday for you.

Rest In Peace my sweet daddy.