The most frequent words people say about Kelly (Gilda Jo Grieshaber) are kind, sweet, and generous. She was the cool aunt, Aunt Glinda—the good witch from the Wizard of Oz, the dear friend who called three times a day, the nicest person you ever met. Her joy was in bringing joy to others; the best memories include her laughter.
I was numbed by the news of her passing. My tears finally started to come on the plane to Kansas City, when the airline played their safety video. Hang with me for a sec — first, they advertised their 20-year campaign in support of breast cancer survivors, including women who appeared cis, lesbian, and trans. Then the safety video itself was presented by characters wearing a fashion characteristic of (almost) every decade since the 1920s. With each change of era, they demonstrated the expansion of diversity in the job of flight attendant that used to be only for a certain type of white woman. Some of the actors in this corporate video aimed at millions of American travelers even spoke with accented English.
Kelly’s life – Gilda’s life – straddled the time in history when it became okay to show who we really are to those we love the most. My most intense moment was after all the official ceremonies were completed, while everyone was milling around the gravesite, hugging and saying our last good to see you’s and fare-thee-well’s. The priest had told us that in his personal experience he’d never seen the chapel so full. Many of us hadn’t seen each other in years (in my case, decades). We overflowed its 60-person seating capacity. I thanked Gilda’s nephew Phil for his comments during the communion mass about how welcoming Kelly was to everyone. He reiterated how true it was and then he said, “I grew up thinking it was just normal, because of how Aunt Gilda was!” He teared up while speaking and that broke me.
So many men paying their respects: brothers, nephews, cousins, friends of nephews and cousins. Kelly’s politics were lived in her day-to-day interactions with everybody, no matter who you were. Her brother Glenn wanted to explain the family boating photo, how the day they got the boat, practically before their dad had learned to drive it, Gilda wanted to learn to waterski. The family went along, buying gear. She made attempt after attempt a l l d a y l o n g, totally demonstrating the pluckiness of her spirit. Gilda’s nephew Brandon spoke so eloquently about his beloved aunt that I requested permission to include his comments below. Her niece Kayla expanded on Aunt Gilda’s fun and silly side, also included below. One of the gifts Gilda gave us and leaves with us is simply her example. As many folks shared in their stories about her, she supported the path that made sense to you. Her sisters and cousins quietly circulated, giving warm hugs, just like Gilda would have done. This may be the quintessential aspect of Kelly that made her the human being we knew and loved so much, is that she showed up for you when you needed her.
Not only did she show up, she would rally others to show up too. One of the most meaningful experiences in my life is when I returned to Kansas City for my brother’s youngest son’s funeral in 2006. Alec died of a heart condition when he was 14 years old. I had been away and out of touch with everyone for at least a decade-and-a-half. I’ve never felt so much love and belonging as when Kelly and the circle of close friends appeared at Alec’s funeral to be there supporting us in that raw time of terrible grief.
I’m sure everyone has noticed that any death triggers the memory and grief of previous deaths, and – if we allow it – reflection on how well we’ve healed from the losses and lived our own lives, perhaps even generating motivation to live better going forward. We all spoke about Kelly’s remarkable joy and energy in bringing joy to others. Obviously this was the biggest part of her personality, the expression of her faith, and – it seems to me – an intentional strategy. Back on the flight coming here on this trip that I did not want to make, I was passing time alternating between reading and feeling. I happened upon this passage:
“Without the ability to feel sad, a person could not be kind or thoughtful, because you wouldn’t care or know how anybody else feels. Without sadness, you would never learn anything from history. Sadness is the key to loving what you love and to becoming better than you were. A person who never felt sad would be a monster.”[1]
Kelly had her share of heartbreaks and found a way to rally from every single one. So much so that we could easily forget that she lived her humane way in the face of a sometimes-hostile culture, with and among humans who sometimes let her down (by accident) or caused her harm (on purpose). Perhaps the enduring beauty of her life and character is how she absorbed those pains, transforming them into her deep well of motivational stories.
Eulogy for Aunt Gilda by Brandon Grieshaber
Over the years—and especially these past few days— I’ve heard so many stories about my Aunt Gilda: who she was, who she is, and who she will continue to be. And for a moment, I’d like to share with you what I’ve learned. Aunt Gilda was many things—a sister, an aunt, a mother, a drinking buddy, a friend, a mentor. But of all these things, one stood out most: she was a storyteller. And she was one of the best.
Whether she was sharing a story from her own life, offering a grand lesson, or slipping in a perfectly inappropriately timed joke, she was an artist—a master of the craft of storytelling. There were days and nights when we would just sit and talk. Sometimes about life’s struggles, dreams, and goals. Other times about one of my infamous “discussions” on current events—the kind you all might call arguments. No matter the topic, she always had a story. One for every occasion. A story to inspire. A story to make you laugh—or cry. A story to teach. But here’s the thing: those weren’t just stories. And she wasn’t just a storyteller—not exactly. I think it’s better to describe her as a hero.
Like any good storyteller knows, every great story needs a great hero. And that’s exactly who she was—the hero. We were the storytellers. She was the hero in our stories—the one who made us feel understood, who made us feel wanted, who reminded us that our quirks and idiosyncrasies didn’t mean something was wrong with us—just that we were different. She taught us to dream big and achieve big. She showed us how to enjoy the little things and to live in the moment.
She challenged us—but never out of malice or pride. She was the heroic cheerleader at our side, offering unrelenting support and unwavering faith, even when some of us doubted ourselves. Aunt Gilda showed us how to love deeply and think deeply. I’ve always said I get my heart from my mom and my brains from my dad—but it was my aunt who nurtured and grew both.
In my stories, she is always the hero.
And as you know, every story eventually comes to an end. But our stories—her stories—don’t have to. They will continue, and she will remain the hero within them. We will go on as the storytellers, sharing the grand tales of Gilda Jo “Kelly” Grieshaber—tales that will inspire, entertain, make us laugh, make us cry, and continue to teach. And most importantly, these stories will allow us to connect with others, just as she connected so deeply with each of us. And maybe, one day, we too will become heroes in the stories told by others—stories of loving deeply and thinking deeply.
All of which began with the tale of Gilda Jo “Kelly” Grieshaber—forever loved and remembered.
For Aunt Gilda by Kayla Grieshaber
I wanted to take a moment to share a few of my favorite things about Aunt Gilda. I think we can all agree that Aunt Gilda wasn’t a regular aunt, she was the “cool aunt”. She was one of the most selfless people I know, always giving of her time and love to others without wanting anything in return. I don’t know if she ever realized how big of an impact she made on my life, and I am sure most of yours, and just how much I loved her and how highly I thought of her.
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- Aunt Gilda came to every softball game, every weekend and every summer for years, and even stayed through game delays that had us playing at midnight.
- She would let all my teammates, covered in sweat and dirt, come to her house to enjoy the Alaskan Temperatures between games.
- She hosted too many sleepovers to count, letting me stay any time I wanted with or without a ball tournament.
- She hosted my 16th birthday party, even letting me bring 6 friends along with me and laughed when a cake fight ensued all over her kitchen. *My mom would have yelled at me*
- She took me to Hawaii and Vegas.
- She helped me buy my first car.
- She took me to various concerts, including the Jonas Brother Concert where she wore a matching puff paint shirt I made her. What can I say? Peak 2000s fashion! And to this day I wouldn’t let her live it down had she not forgotten something that delayed us an hour, we would have met the Jonas Brothers in the hotel lobby. Crushed my teenage heart just as much as her own.
I consider myself lucky to have her as my aunt. Aunt Gilda gave me a childhood I otherwise wouldn’t have had, full of memories, adventures, and laughter to last a lifetime. Oh the belly aches and ab cramps we would get with late night laughter. She inspired me to travel as much as I can, taught me to invest young and retire early, and how to be the most rockstar aunt around, obviously not to his [Brandon’s nonexistent] kids.
I quote her regularly without always realizing it, and carry her life lessons with me daily.
For example, when going to dinner Aunt Gilda taught me, “shoot, I left my wallet in the car” to get a free dinner.
And on the flip side of that, we would get so caught up in the fun, laughing all the way to the car, only to turn around and see us being chased down by the waitress for dining and dashing! Which ended in more laughter and accusing each other of “I thought you paid!!” It’s actually embarrassing how many times this happened, and I don’t think any restaurant believed us that it really was an accident on our walk of shame back to the cash register.
She’s the only person I know that had hot flashes for freaking 20 years.
She was the best storyteller I know. She loved to tell us how when we were really little, Brandon and I had a sleepover with her and we didn’t want to brush our teeth before bed, so she came really close to us and said well you better brush them or you’ll end up like this and **pop** popped her teeth out! She said our eyes got so wide and we ran to brush them. While I don’t directly remember this, my subconscious clearly does because I’m still OCD about brushing my teeth.
In addition to being a great storyteller, Aunt Gilda always had the most inappropriate timed jokes, and she would do anything for a good laugh, even if that meant licking a stranger’s finger for a punchline.
One of my favorite stories with her was on one of our trips. We shared a bed and the next morning she told me in the middle of the night I started to scratch her back, and she woke up and was like “what the hell…” then immediately following was like that feels kinda nice! She said it lasted about 5 minutes and when I stopped she was upset.
Needless to say, it will be so easy to keep Aunt Gilda’s spirit alive with us. Her laughter will echo in my mind, her love and selflessness a guide for my heart, and her stories will keep us entertained for decades to come.
[1] Quote about sadness from Playground by Richard Powers (2024, p. 82).
Beautiful!