Help Us Give John Griego the Dignified Farewell He Deserves

John's Story

John Griego never chased a spotlight; instead, he lit small corners of other people’s lives. On my birthday, 1 year after my granddaughter—who shared my birthday—passed away, he quietly ordered an angel-shaped cake matching details of Abby's life to details on the cake to ease the pain I feel on a day that used to be joyous. Years before we built a life together, he heard I had fled a bad relationship in Colorado; without fanfare he loaded a truck with furniture, crossed the mountains, and helped me get back on my feet. Later he took my daughter Candace’s arm and walked her down the aisle, filling a father’s space with a steady smile. One Thanksgiving we earned a free grocery-store turkey; he carved it, carried plates to our neighbors, and declared that supper only counts when everyone eats. Sundays found him cheering at the TV while Wyatt—the dog he adored—dozed across his lap, the remote balanced on one knee and a computer game at the ready. His favorite season was Christmas; his favorite song, Ray Charles’s “Seven Spanish Angels.” Each time it played, he closed his eyes, breathed in the chorus, and the room felt a little brighter.

Pancreatic cancer, diabetes, high blood pressure, and chronic pain finally weakened his heart. Hospice wrapped him in mercy, and on Friday he slipped away, leaving the rest of us to carry his quiet generosity forward.

Why we need help now

John was a great man but he left no will, has little family aside from his nephew Chris Griego, me, and my kids, and the funeral bills will arrive long before probate can untangle his small estate. My own rheumatoid arthritis and medical expenses have exhausted our savings, yet a dignified farewell cannot wait. Three thousand dollars will cover a basic cremation, an urn, a modest gathering where stories can mingle, and the unavoidable paperwork that follows a death. If kindness carries us past the goal, each extra dollar will keep the lights on while I navigate grief counseling and the probate maze.

How you can lift his legacy

A few dollars, a share of this page, a memory left in the comments—every gesture widens the circle of care that John spent a lifetime drawing. His quiet gift was making heavy things lighter: furniture, burdens, broken hearts. I’m asking all who loved him, or who simply believe kindness should meet kindness, to help us lift for him now.

With gratitude and love,

Sherry Dennis & family