Theodoros H. Dimitriou, of Brookline, Mass.,  passed away on November  11, 2020. Born in Vatatades, Epirus Greece, Theodoros moved to Boston in 1967. He worked as a waiter in many Boston restaurants and retired from the No Name Restaurant on the Fish Pier. Theodoros was a member of the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Cathedral of New England and the PINDOS Society.

Theodoros was preceded in death by his first wife Alexandra Davos Dimitriou. He is survived by his second wife, Evdokia. Beloved father and grandfather, Theodoros leaves his three sons: Haralambos of Boston, George and his wife Maureen of Norwood, Angelo and his wife Roberta of Norwood; grandchildren Katherine, Michael and his wife Alexis, Alexandra, Alexandra, and T.J; and many nieces and nephews both here and in Greece.  Brother of Michael Dimitriou, and the late Apostolos Dimitriou and the late Demetra Tsontzou.

A talented cook and gardener, Theodoros often could be seen tending his grapevine in Brookline and dancing at Greek functions in the area.

Due to the current pandemic in our world and our care and concern for our family and friends, funeral service and burial will be private. In lieu of flowers, donations in his memory may be made to the Hellenic Nursing and Rehabilitation Center, 601 Sherman St., Canton, MA 02021. Burial Walnut Hills Cemetery, Brookline, Mass.

My father, Theodoros Dimitriou, passed away this past Wednesday Nov 11, 2020, from coronavirus.  The cause of his death is devastating. The fact that so many people who loved him cannot say goodbye in the manner that they want and in the traditions he so deserved is so sad. However, I am incredibly thankful for both his life and his peaceful departure from earth.  Since I will not be seeing many of you, at least not in the next days or weeks, I wanted to share some thoughts about his life and what he meant to me.

My father was born in Vatatathes, a small rural village in a northern part of Greece called Epirus.  To say village life was difficult is an understatement. This village was not your REI or Eddie Bauer weekend experience, and unlike thousands of other villages in Greece that made a resurgence later in the century, this place never did. Yet my father looked back on his time there with fond memories.  He loved its nature and whatever the land had to offer.  While lack of opportunities, poverty, and death were commonplace, my father always chose to focus on the positives.  He fondly recounted his younger years with stories of eagles, snakes, foxes, and wolves, and the varied and picturesque landscape, which others simply viewed as rocks, that made up his childhood environment.

School in the village was virtually non-existent, only meeting several weeks a year, if that.  The few kids who did attend were all in one room.  In his very brief time at school, my father showed signs of strong academic potential and was encouraged to pursue his education. However, before even finishing the 5 ^th grade he was required to help his father full time, which primarily meant herding the goats and sheep.  Like so many village boys all over Greece, at a very young age he was caring for family's livestock in the mountains for hours at a time.  Nevertheless, he learned to read and write and would tackle texts that were many years beyond his schooling.  As an adult in his 30s, without even an education in his native language, he enthusiastically approached studying for his American citizenship and learning basic reading and writing in English.

World War II meant foreign soldiers passing through and staying in his village.  Fortunately, my father's village was spared from destruction and killings, but the aftermath of WWII was extremely painful.  Civil unrest and conflict based on ideological and socio-economic differences, kidnappings of young men to join fighting forces, and starvation.  On occasion I would hear a little bit about about his struggles, but they were never conveyed as a lesson or with any hint that these experiences shaped who he was. For example, there was one season where the people in his village survived on wild greens and milk…only due to the fact that the female goats produced enough milk and it rained so much the greens grew multiple times. My father brought that story up only because we happened to be discussing a particularly rainy season in Boston where the greens in his backyard grew more than usual.  Other events that seem unimaginable to most of us -- spending an entire winter in wet clothes because he had only one set and it would rain or snow almost daily; watching his neighbor's infant's die from starvation; the kidnapping of his cousin; the attempted kidnapping of himself (thwarted by his mother) -- came up matter of factly in some sort of related conversation we were having. My father believed many others had it harder, so it made more sense to talk of their challenges than his own.

Life after WWII was not sustainable in his village, and like hundreds of thousands of others in similar villages across Greece, my father left for Athens, again with one set of clothes and the literal equivalent of a nickel in his pocket.  He bused tables and did other odd jobs. He adored the beaches and coastline of Athens, and he wouldn't think twice about ending his evening shift at the café and going for a swim.  He spent several years in the Greek military, even beyond his national requirement, and took tremendous pride in the physical training he provided to other soldiers.   My father had incredible physical strength for a man his size and maintained his health well into his 80s.  I recall making him do pushups and pull-ups for his 80 ^th birthday – and of course for the laughs he did.

He married my mother, Alexandra, in Athens in 1960, and soon thereafter my brothers Harry (1961) and George (1963) were born.  My brother Harry's traumatic birth and care requirements were the next set of challenges in his life.  For the next five decades he worked more than full time, and like so many immigrants and relatives of mine, without sick time or vacations, etc.  With the economic situation in Greece worsening once again, he moved his family to Boston in 1967, where his brother n law (and my future godfather) Angelos Davos was residing and could provide some support.  My brother Harry's situation was getting more complicated with hospitalizations, cognitive impairments, and eventual hemiparalysis.  When not working endless hours, my father cared for my brother Harry and still found time to be a dad for my brother George and I.   He never complained about his circumstances, his lack of time, resources or access to any other lifestyle.  I never recall him being jealous or holding a grudge.  He was complimentary of people and genuinely happy about their successes.  He listened with purpose and support and without judgment.  His caretaking of my brother Harry never stopped.  When my brother's condition required him to live outside the house, when my father was in his 60s, he visited him daily despite still working full time.  Over the next 25 years, I can't tell you how many staff at my brother's various group and nursing homes told me that my father was the most supportive relative they had ever encountered.

While my father, was a proud Greek and adored his native country, there was no doubt of his love of the US and he was so thankful for the opportunities the country presented to his family.  Following my mother's death and Harry's move my father and I spent more time together than any other point in our lives.  Often this included a few drinks and a lot of food, and it was usually around midnight after his shift.   Many times we visited Harry together or my brother George and his family.  He loved his grandchildren unconditionally and was excited to cook for them at a moment's notice.  I married my wife, Roberta, in 1999, and he graciously opened up his house and life to the both of us.  She quickly discovered that there is no concept of privacy in the Greek household, but I also hope she discovered the unconditional and everlasting love and support of my Greek dad.   He loved his grandchildren and appreciated them.  He shared their curiosity. One road trip when my kids were young should have been a seven-hour drive but was closer to 11 because my father had to look at, spend time with, and appreciate everything on the way.  He investigated everything at the first, second, third, and fourth turnpike rest stops. He took notes on everything on the trip.  He seemed to enjoy our stay at a very questionable hotel in a much cheaper part of town as much as the beach house in the ritzier part of town.  He was always interested in his environment wherever that was and whoever he was with.

I spent several days with him this summer at Cape Cod.  We swam in the ocean each afternoon, and sat down for longer talks in the evening.  It occurred to me when we were swimming together that these types of opportunities may not be around forever.  I was happy for our time together. Unfortunately, in late October he contracted the corona virus and his life ended a couple weeks later.  He was extremely calm and collected throughout his hospitalization, allowed people to help him, and was completely accepting of his circumstances.  We would speak daily, and not surprisingly his focus was on how others were doing rather than his own health. He used his last conversations to thank me, impart his blessings, and tell me he loved me.- Angelo Dimitriou