22/04/2026
It was love at first sight with Gris. He fell asleep with his face in my hands and the next thing we knew, we were driving home with a tiny bundle of chaos who would completely transform us. He was not only our best friend, but The best friend—always knowing what you needed and how to get it to you. For us, it was always a laugh—and he had a solid grasp on comedic timing. The things that boy did were always unexpected. You don’t get the nickname Griswild for being anything but. For others, he gave a smile, joyful attention, a calm presence. When we moved to Seattle, we lived next to a hospital, and Gris would always pick out the person who needed him most. We sat in silence with strangers and exchanged phone numbers with them on Gris’s behalf. He opened us up. He taught us how to be silly and sweet—always sweet. He’d sit butt to butt with the bunnies in our yard. He used a pillow like a human. He was a timekeeper, a cheese connoisseur (they’re all good), a snow monster, a puzzle solver, a stick wrestler, a fern lover, a mud magnet, a perfect little man. We told him every day. We didn’t have enough time, but no amount could ever have been enough. He burned so bright. It is a profound privilege to have shared his life, his love, and his joy. And somehow, he keeps on giving.
Gris hated when I cried, so we’re working hard to honor him by celebrating the joy he brought to his world. We know many of you knew and loved Griswold, too. If you have stories or impressions to share, or can send him a loving thought, please celebrate him with us.
We love you, sweet Gris. Thank you for every minute.
