Iwan Prystajko

Iwan Prystajko, 90 of South Orange, entered into eternal rest on November 5, 2021 at St. Barnabas Medical Center, Livingston. Born in Liviv, Ukraine on July 6, 1931 he lived in Irvington before moving to Maplewood in 1978 where he remained until 2020. He was a retired Machinist & Electrician having worked for Westinghouse for many years until retirement in 1990. Iwan was very proud of his Ukrainian heritage and culture. He supported many causes that were pro-independence of the Ukraine and was inspired by the patriots of his country. He is survived by his daughters: Linda Wyatt, Sonya Prystajko & Olga Bachman, his brother Michael and grandchildren; Peter Wyatt & Briana & Ethan Bachman. Visitation will take place on Friday, November 12th from 4:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. at Union Funeral Home - Lytwyn & Grillo, 1600 Stuyvesant Ave., Union, NJ. Parastas Service will take place at 7:30 p.m. (Parking located directly next to the building and on Stanley Terrace) Relatives and Friends are invited to return for the Funeral on Saturday morning at 8:30 a.m. A Funeral Liturgy will be celebrated at 9:30 a.m. at St. John the Baptist Ukrainian Catholic Church, 733 Sanford Ave., Newark, NJ 07106. Burial will follow at St. Andrews Ukrainian Cemetery, South Bound Brook. Below is a eulogy written by his grandson, Peter. A death should not begin another, though that is what grief forms of a person’s thoughts as they anguish over this absence. A death would begin another, when all there is to a grieving person’s heart is the yearning to, once more, hold their loved one’s hand. The skin of the palm, the veins running at the top, as this was a warmth to which they have connected. To hold my grandfather’s hand, for another time, would mean to hold something cold. It would be a reminder to myself that I cannot hold something so physical, of what is absent. Their blood, my blood. Their flesh, my flesh. It is cold. These realizations, these understandings will allow a person, who would not just be me, come to know the meaning of a memory. To remember what was, not what is gone, or to remember the complete picture, not what is a piece missing from the whole is being able to breathe life, once again. Death can cripple, but not a memory of what is whole to our hearts. Tears may be bitter or sweet, as it is always the latter when we move on with an understanding that there still is presence. My grandfather’s presence, now among all his loved ones, does live on. It is while we all choose to not grieve, that we become rejuvenated in the idea that we are not alone. It is an understood factor of grief that we want to be alone to feel it. It should then be an understood factor of love that we are never alone when we feel what another is feeling for us. Then, love will decide for us. We have no choice, but to surrender to love, to extend beyond grief, if never wanting to be alone in it. As all my grandfather’s loved ones stay alive in their remaining years, some will weep and water the autumn leaves or the spring grass at their feet, though all will come to understand, in time, that he is always around to speak in the language of love. Some will hear his voice in the chimes upon tree branches with the wind. Others will hear his distinct accent in another person with the same. There are many ways that love communicates. There are many ways a loved one can speak, because they are never truly apart from us. It is a life that dies. It is a physical form that gets buried or simply returns to the earth in some fashion. However, love cannot die, and love cannot be buried in somewhere dark, nor can it be forgotten through time. Peter A. W. Wyatt