Etched in Stone

Note: It’s been a rough couple of weeks.  When last I posted, my friend Sheila was in the hospital with chest pains and my friend, Greg, who was suffering from ALS just needed some good vibes.  I shared a story about a 60^th birthday celebration and asked for volunteers to send good thoughts to both…

The update is a good news/bad news edition.  Sheila was quickly released from the hospital, then quickly readmitted for a few days, given a reasonable diagnosis, and released again.  Sweet!

Unfortunately, my friend Greg, passed away shortly after the last post due to complications of ALS.  While we all knew the dire consequences of ALS, I suspect that I can speak for most of my friends when I state that we just were not quite ready for the inevitable outcome to become reality.

My heart aches, but my heart is full of wonderful memories of forty-seven years spent laughing and cavorting with my friend.  The following tribute ‘Etched in Stone’ was shared with friends and classmates at ‘A Toast to Greg’ held last weekend.  Even if you didn’t know my friend, Greg, perhaps this reflection will inspire you to contact a long-time friend and remind them of how important they are to you…

Etched in Stone

Recently I wrote a post that indicated that as I age, my memories tend to become more etched in stone. 

Forty-seven years ago.  September 1974 

It was our first month of high school.  Soon after school began Greg and another classmate transferred into my World Geography class.

The three of us struck up quick friendships.  I have been contemplating how this happened and I have concluded that Greg would laugh at my jokes and stories and this, of course, played well with my freshman ego.  He continued laughing at my jokes and stories through his final days and that played well with my adult ego.  Greg was kind and encouraging, he was a good friend.

We were an interesting pair.  As you can see, I have semi-transparent skin.  Greg on the other hand, typically had a deep tan…in February.  And Greg was known to simply ‘look good’.  A natty dresser.  Every sun-bleached blond hair in place.

When we were juniors at Paschal, we were both planning to attend a formal dance.   Greg’s date lived near me.  When the subject of the dance came up, Greg asked me if I had chosen a tuxedo for the dance.

“Sure”, I responded, “a basic black with a white shirt” (You might insert here: ‘cheapest available’).  I can still see the look of horror on his face.

What I recall about the night of the dance is that as I was driving home, I remembered that Greg mentioned something about a group getting together after the dance.  I drove by his dates’ house and indeed several friends were gathered in the side yard.

I stopped.  I got out.  The kind term that memory allows would be ‘disheveled’.  My shirt tail partially out, tie loosened, hair askew from something self-described as dancing but…

I took a look at Greg.  He was still wearing his baby blue tux and ruffled shirt, the matching bow tie still in place. He looked like he had just come from the cleaners, perfectly pressed in every way.  Each blonde hair in complete unison.   

Just this past October, after a golf outing, Cindy sent me a text reporting that she and Greg were about to arrive here for the post golf celebration.  I went to the parking lot to greet them.  Greg pushed the throttle of his chair and began heading toward the entrance.  Halfway across the lot he stopped.  Cindy went around to the front and leaned close.  She listened and then nodded.  She turned, handed me her purse and supply bag and then squared herself in front of Greg.  Then she gently straightened his clothing so that he would look ‘just right’.

There is no doubt, our friendship mirrored the odd couple, but it was true.

One of the hallmarks of the class of ‘78 is the ability to separate for stretches of time and come back together as though we were never apart.  For many years, Greg and I would play in an annual golf outing.  Some years, when one or both of us was traveling for work, we might rarely see each other between outings.  In other years, we might see each other regularly.   On two occasions we worked together for a period of time and on another occasion, he helped facilitate a real estate transaction that our company was seeking to close. 

But I was not the only classmate who Greg positively impacted.  When we organized Tuesday dinners…there was always a full schedule.  When we came together to build a ramp at his home, a four-man project quickly became a group project, well-funded by friends and well fed by classmates.  Greg had a way of making everyone feel special.

I am blessed by recent memories of Greg during visits at his home. While our handicaps made communicating difficult, visits with Greg became the highlight of my week.  Often, I would offer to read him a story that I had written.  He would always smile and nod and offer a wink.

Last night I had a vision of Greg lingering near the Pearly Gates.  An angel approaches Saint Peter and says, “SP, what’s up with the new guy?” Saint Peter glances at Greg and says “Him?  He’s waiting to greet his classmates…whenever they arrive.”  And the angel replies to Saint Peter, “Sure, I get that, but why is he so dressed up?”

Now I don’t know about the accuracy of my vision, but after forty-seven years, I know this much is etched in stone.  Greg was kind and encouraging, he laughed at my stories and made me feel special.  I am blessed to have been able to call him my friend.

Thanks for listening!

KBM

Kevin Medlin
kevin@mysilentpew.com
3-18-21