Bohdan Lozynskyy

Emily ForkinFriend

Bohdan was a fantastic man. He was very kind to me during a difficult time in my life. May he rest in peace

RomanBrother

A man of a thousand talents, though he never learned to say no.
He seemed to know everything, yet didn’t know how to do something truly for himself.

There wasn’t a single thing he couldn’t do.
Sew, program, fix anything that moves—bicycles, cars, boats, even airplanes. Come up with and design his own alarm system—easy. Weld and build a bike rack out of scraps overnight—absolutely. A cracked smartphone screen? Bring it to him. Accidentally erased your computer files? Don’t cry, he’ll recover them. Photoshop, legal advice, video editing, getting permits, resolving issues with banks—he was everyone’s first call. Family, friends, neighbors—they all came to him. In any unclear situation, the first step was to call Bohdan—he’d either solve it or help you figure out how to do it.

Chemistry, physics, circuitry—anything he could experiment on, Andrew and he dove right in. Anything could become an experiment in his hands—objects melted, froze, exploded, burned, cracked, or collapsed right before our eyes. As spectator, you couldn’t help but wonder: what in the world might he try next?. Neighbors grew accustomed to all sorts of smells, sounds, and even the occasional explosions emanating from his projects.

On holidays and birthdays, he would write sweet, playful little poems for those he cared about. Who does that anymore?
And the dishes he cooked weren’t just meals—they brought joy to everyone who tasted them, adults and children alike. He’d serve them humbly, smiling as if it were nothing special, saying, “I hope it’ll do,”—but it was art, it was joy, it was comfort.
Everything prepared with purpose: adornments, colorful accents, carefully placed.
There was always so much care, poured into the smallest details.
And yet, he could go without eating or sleeping, just to look after everyone else.

Always with a smile, a joke, or a playful tease.
In Ireland’s fierce winds, he would roll a cigarette one-handed on the go—even while biking. I don’t know how he did it. What I wouldn’t give for him to roll me one more, just once. Those quiet morning conversations on the balcony over a cigarette…

He had a knack for befriending anyone, no matter their age, nationality, occupation—or even whether or not they were sober.

And when he came back from the store, his backpack and bags would be packed so tightly that not even a single napkin could fit. Carrying all that, week after week—he didn’t need a gym; the load was enough.

But it wasn’t only people drawn to him. Animals were, too. The strays he fed—the countless cats, shy hedgehogs, chirping birds—they all somehow found their way into his orbit.

And now, just like so many times before, I regret. I regret not saying all of this to his face, to that special person who should have heard it.
Not saying how much it all mattered, how much it was noticed, appreciated, cherished.
Now, it’s left unsaid—and we’ll miss it all.
But I hold on tightly to the hope, to the belief, that Bohdan knew it all. And if he didn’t, oh God, I beg you—let him know.

I hope, my dear big brother, that you have finally found your peace.

ShonaFriend

Bohdan was such a gentle and kind man, he touched the hearts of so many (including mine) during my stay in hospital. Will be forever greatful for the oppertunity to have met him.

Оксанасестра тата

Неможливо писати-це нашe спiльнe горе. Богданчик- старший найсвiтлiший, найчутливiший з трьох внукiв моеi мами. Його любили всi, для мене це дорога дитина. Спiвчуваю нам усiм Лозинським, бо ми втратили найкращого. Приймiть найщирiшi слова пiдтримки вiд мене i Tи, братику, i Ти, Андрiйко! Хай спочивае з Богом наш дорогенький Богдан! Царство Тобi небесне i вiчна пам’ять!