In memoriam: Adrian Deputat and Ihor Pikas (04/08/01)

In memoriam: Adrian Deputat and Ihor Pikas

by Michael A. Petryshyn

A single adjective that universally describes Adrian Deputat and Ihor Pikas has not yet been discovered. It is fascinating how Adjo and Ihor became friends, for their characters were on opposite sides of the spectrum.

Adjo never refrained from his desires, creating stories full of humor that always crescendoed from a few cackles to an enormous uproar. He lived his life to the fullest extent and never wanted to experience the down side of life; stress, anger and hate were not part of his language. His close friends knew another side of Adjo - his compassionate side, sometimes was overlooked and masked by his natural comic instincts. His lack of concern for himself, i.e., his "self-correction theory," allowed Adjo to move his efforts from himself to all of the friends he loved more than life.

Never has a bad word been spoken about Ihor. He was a reserved gentleman with a contemplative mind that would have impressed even the deepest of famed thinkers. Although he was somewhat concerned with physical fitness, it was actually his heart that was his largest muscle. A selfless individual who devoted his time to helping others, Ihor was global in his efforts, and all who encountered him quickly became aware of this. Rarely thinking of himself, this young man would have achieved heights unreachable to 98 percent of the population. His wisdom was like a quiet forest or a calm pond, where in fact he spent much of his time. Behind Ihor's silent facade, however, there was an infinite number of things occurring.

Although our two friends were of different statures, they complemented each other incredibly well, filling in each other's gaps.

"Now that we're almost settled in our house
I'll name the friends that cannot sup with us
Beside a fire of turf in th' ancient tower,
And having talked to some late hour
Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed:
Discovers of forgotten truth
Or mere companions of my youth,
All, all are in my thoughts to-night being dead."

- William Butler Yeats

Two months have passed since I last shook hands with Adjo or Ihor. Indeed, the time seems even longer, so much has happened meanwhile - so much has happened in the hearts and minds among all who were even slightly acquainted with them. Even amid all of the despondent and grave sentiments felt by the family and close friends, a tranquil tenderness ceases the moment when an outside source allows for reminiscence. Our paths in general take separate routes through the sorrows and elations surrounding life, leading individuals to stray from the pack, and involve themselves with distant objectives. One road leads the individual back to himself. He knows his manner more than any other. All we have are impressions that turn into memories - some distant, some eeriely foreign and esoteric; and yet, the multitude of these personal engravings embed themselves into our daily consciousness. The other road leads the individual to seep into the deepest pockets of his acquaintances. And when that person shatters the thin glass wall, the one that separates true character and personal inhibitions, an unbreakable bond is created; the person becomes a friend. Adjo and Ihor, inexhaustible in their friendships with hundreds upon hundreds of Ukrainians and Americans alike, have done exactly that.

There are but a few times when one of their names is mentioned, that an intimate account, an authentic story, full of wonderful detail and thoughtful deliberation does not flow from the tongue of one of their friends. Their impact on our lives, not to be forgotten even in the slightest amount, has created an unimaginable affinity between people who have never crossed paths before. This newly created kinship is because of these two young men. The pain of losing a brother has become a point of similarity for all who knew either of them. The same tears that gently rushed down shocked visages, the exact gray melancholic sensation, the same sleepless and desolate first night after the news, and the constant desire to have them with us again is now a common denominator between a seemingly infinite number of people.

* * *

It almost seems to be an absolute among young children to yearn for knowledge about their parents' past, from the most complex and ambiguous to the elementary. As a child, I remember rifling through my parents' photographs from weddings, zabavas and Christenings just to see moments of unrefined happiness.

These photos reach a long way back - into the forgotten years of childhood and adolescence, which reveal innocent moments where inhibitions are dropped, and love and friendship flourish without a single solitary word spoken. There is an oral history to all of these photos, about the people in them and the circumstances, garnering a slew of benevolent and regressionary notes.

Simply, these are the stories your children or future children will want to hear.

But there were always several people in the photos who were foreign to my young eyes; either they moved away to a more prosperous region and lost touch with their roots, or their lives came to a tragic end. And when asked who that person is, a paradox of emotions streamed through my parents' eyes. Emotions of grief mixed with jubilant stories from the past were exhumed through the eyes, for language would not suffice. The remembrance of the past speaks a language unavailable to the physical tongue.

Our language is limited in this sense. Even if we went through all of the tales about Ihor and Adjo with our children, they will never wholly know the special bond all of us had with them, just as we, as children, could not understand our parents' past friendships.

How difficult it will be when their little wandering minds are attracted to our photographs, and their fingers eventually do point at a picture of either Ihor or Adjo. What could possibly be said to a little child about our two friends? What words could be spoken to illustrate the innate connection, the deep passion and the years of laughter and delight?

Everyone will handle these questions differently, because we are all left subjective impressions. Some will relay stories of hilarity and humor, some will recompose a long-winded concerto about a 10-hour car ride to some city, others will speak of them as part of a group of friends, and some will talk about Ihor and Adjo's inherent importance in their lives.

All of these remembrances are infinite in their essence, for they will not be forgotten.

* * *

Everybody has grown a little bit closer in the past month. What has been taken for granted, no longer is taken lightly. People are spending more time with each other, staying those extra few minutes with friends, and loving more than imaginable a few months ago. New friendships have been created and strong friendships are even stronger. And Ihor and Adjo could not have asked for more. A full month has passed since any of us shook hands with Adjo or Ihor. Indeed the time seems even longer, so much has happened meanwhile - so much more than they could have ever believed.

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