“They all give me a hug as they come in,” mentioned Winckowski, 66. “They call me ‘Grandma Peggy.’”
The “Wednesday Breakfast Club” custom happened after Sam Crowe — Winckowski’s grandson — then a freshman at Bishop DuBourg High School, floated the speculation to his friends. The faculty has a later get started on Wednesday mornings, and Crowe and his classmates most often went to a diner to have breakfast prior to magnificence.
One Wednesday morning on the diner, Sam advised his friends that his Grandma Peggy makes a greater breakfast than the eating place. So, after checking with his grandmother — who eagerly presented to host her grandson’s friends for breakfast — a small staff of highschool scholars confirmed up at Winckowski’s space the next Wednesday morning. And then each Wednesday since.
“Wednesday is my most favorite day of the week,” mentioned Winckowski. “I will feed them as long as they will come.”
“They’re going to be protected, they’re going to be loved and they’re definitely going to be fed,” she added.
The accumulating took on a miles larger, and sadder, that means in July 2022, when Sam used to be killed in a car crash at age 15.
“It was horrific,” mentioned Winckowski, who has 16 grandchildren, together with Sam. “It was a phone call you never want to get.”
On the day of Sam’s dying, a bunch of his closest friends — the similar teenagers who at all times attended the weekly Wednesday breakfasts — congregated at Winckowski’s space.
“We were all grieving with grandma,” mentioned Jeremy Roeder, 17, a junior at Bishop DuBourg High School, who changed into shut friends with Sam all over their freshman yr. “She’s basically family to all of us, and Sam was, too.”
“They came here every day for the whole week,” mentioned Winckowski. “They just wanted to make sure that I was okay.”
As the summer season got here to an finish and the primary Wednesday of the varsity yr approached, Winckowski advised the teenagers they have been nonetheless welcome for breakfast. More scholars than ever confirmed up.
“He would want us to continue so we’re going to continue it,” mentioned Roeder. “We’re all there for each other.”
“To be 15 years old and to lose your best friend, it’s got to be so hard for them to understand,” mentioned Winckowski. “There’s not a day that goes by that we don’t talk about Sam.”
The custom began with a couple of teenage boys and has expanded to incorporate about 30 common attendees — together with sophomores, juniors and seniors. Sometimes, Sam’s oldsters display up, in addition to different contributors of the neighborhood.
Winckowski’s house can get crowded, she mentioned, however they make it paintings.
“It’s just a tiny house, but it’s got a lot of love in the walls,” she mentioned.
For Winckowski, the weekly gatherings make her really feel with regards to her past due grandson, who she mentioned used to be “a gift from the get-go.”
“He loved life, like his grandma,” she mentioned.
Sam’s friends take note their good friend the similar means.
“He was the kindest person ever. He was so sweet and nice to everyone,” mentioned Maddie Ruggeri, 16, who began attending the weekly breakfasts after Sam’s dying. “He was always smiling.”
For each the scholars and Winckowski, Wednesdays are a wanted salve, and a time to procedure their shared grief.
“It feels like he’s there with us,” mentioned Ruggeri. “It’s something he enjoyed doing, and we’re doing it for him so that we can continue his memory.”
“For everyone who had the opportunity to know him and needs somewhere to grieve, it’s a great place,” echoed Cory Macke, 16, who has been attending the breakfast membership because it began.
Macke mentioned Winckowski is the explanation such a lot of scholars are prepared to get up early on Wednesdays.
“She is the kindest, most caring soul,” mentioned Macke. “She is very selfless. It’s never about her.”
Aaron Venneman, 17, a senior at Bishop DuBourg High School, mentioned it’s Winckowski who brings everybody in combination.
“She shows everyone great compassion,” he mentioned.
For the primary yr, Winckowski lined the entire prices related to the breakfasts, however native companies, households and oldsters of scholars have just lately began pitching in for groceries — particularly after the tale used to be revealed closing yr within the St. Louis Review.
“Some of the kids’ grandparents have been trying to make donations so that we could keep it going,” Winckowski mentioned, including that she and her husband — who has dementia and Parkinson’s illness, and calls for consistent care — are on a set source of revenue.
Still, Winckowski is decided to hold at the breakfast membership custom, even supposing it way she has to pay fully out of pocket.
“I have to keep moving because I have many more grandkids to take care of,” mentioned Winckowski, regarding the teenagers who attend her weekly breakfasts. “We’ll never get over Sam’s passing, but we can get through it together.”
The weekly gatherings, she defined, stay her spirits top.
“Sam knew this was going to help his grandma get through this,” she mentioned.
Winckowski additionally hopes to set a favorable instance for the scholars.
“I hope they can pay it forward when they get older,” she mentioned.
While Winckowski has uniqueness dishes — together with pancakes and bacon — she additionally makes French toast (the use of her selfmade bread), eggs in more than a few bureaucracy, cinnamon buns, waffles and casseroles.
“I’m always looking for something new,” she mentioned, noting that on a up to date Wednesday, she served “Grandma McMuffins” — her take at the vintage McDonald’s breakfast sandwich.
She at all times makes greater than sufficient meals, “and if it’s a little crowd, they take the leftovers to school,” she mentioned. “We don’t let the food go to waste.”
Aside from Wednesdays, some scholars prevent via to visit Winckowski on different days, too. She assists in keeping her kitchen stocked with soda and snacks.
“Being around her makes me feel cheerful,” mentioned Harrison Newcombe, 16, a detailed good friend of Sam’s, who visited Winckowski on a up to date Saturday with a number of friends.
“It melts my heart every time they show up,” Winckowski mentioned.
“I’ve lost my 15-year-old grandson, but in his place, Sam gave me 30 extra grandbabies,” she persisted. “I think Sam is directing this from above.”