My friend Greg

Since my mother's death I have been touring my past sometimes strolling, drifting my hand to touch and other times racing, passing over, not ready. I've boiled my life into four parts that I feel define me; my childhood, Oak Meadow, Highlander Pool, and my family. There are sub categories formatted beneath these four, but each one of the above, in my head they are Roman numerals I, II, III, and IV, helped shape me into the person I am today, and as I moved through my life I carried with me to the next phase those people and those lessons.

It's easier today to stay in touch with people, but back in my day computers were still giant, beeping machines that took up the entire desk and were mainly used for storing information. There wasn't emails and certainly no social media. Keeping in touch with people, meant writing letters and calling on a land line telephone, and unfortunately, as life, work, and family progressed at different stages that wasn't always easy. I think too we were too young then to know how important we really were to one another.

This week one of the people from my Category II died. I haven't seen or spoken to Greg Riesenberg (that's spelled i before e except after c) in over twenty years, but it doesn't diminish my sadness or the hurt. The Greg I knew would scoff at my tears, wave them away and tell me he wasn't worth it, but he was my friend and so I grieve. 

I was in my mid twenties when Greg took the position of golf course superintendent at the country club where I worked. He bounced into the staff meeting, shook all of our hands, and immediately the room became lighter. That was Greg. He was like a breath of fresh air needed in a stale room. He brought with him sunshine and happiness and an energy that belied his body. 

He was funny. God, was he funny. Side-splitting-laughing-until-it-hurts funny. He had a million one liners and no matter how many times you heard them you couldn't help laughing again because he sprung it on you in a new way, and then he would laugh his big, booming laugh because he had gotten you. He called those he loved "little buddy" and if it annoyed him it "hurt his hair do", just a few of what we called Greg-isms that made us laugh. 

He knew grass. He was proud of his turf grass education at Penn State, and he taught me all about Zoysia grass. He was also the only person who could have gotten a handful of staff members and members out of their comfort zone and out on a golf course to plant the stuff. We did. By the end of that day, I had grass and dirt in every nook and cranny including my nose, but by golly that knowledge impressed my husband when it came time to sod our yard. He and his classmates at Penn State wrote a song about turf and with a guitarist and three of us as his back up dancers and singers he performed that at Amateur Night at the country club. The video is one that is in my pile to be converted to a DVD. 

He was kind and helpful. To everyone. He found me a lilac bush to purchase as a gift for my mother and he brought it to my house and planted it so I could surprise her. He did little things for members, and if anyone tried to praise him he would fling his hands in the air and make a joke. He didn't want accolades or to stand out. Helping others was in his nature, and I know of many circumstances when he helped out his employees and saved a few lives in the process.

He was smart. He pretended he wasn't, but he knew way more than he let on. He would offer an answer passing by and overhearing, but then he would joke and say he read it in a comic book if proved he was correct. He was deep, but he rarely let you delve into that side of him. His laughter and joking were sometimes forced to mask whatever demons he had within, things he refused to discuss, preferring to forge ahead instead of confronting, hoping to out run it. Sharing his feelings with words wasn't in his DNA, and deep conversations were a rarity, but when he did take the time to sit and talk it was well worth it.

Most of all, he was an unbelievable father. When I knew him he had three children. He added another one later, but Ryan, Ben, and Amanda were never far from him in those days following in age and height behind him like little ducklings. We were not allowed to refer to them as "kids" because Greg did not have goats. He had children and he reminded you of that if you slipped, and I did constantly.

He believed that if you were going to be a parent then you should parent. Why have children if you were leaving them elsewhere? He had his children with him as often as possible and he loved on them with great relish. My favorite parenting technique of his was holding his crying child up to a mirror so he/she could see how terrible it looked to see him/her cry. Inevitably they would laugh as he cajoled them out of their mood. He was the first parent I knew that got down at a child's level to discipline. He treated them with respect and talked to them as adults, and I learned quite a bit about parenting from Greg and his wife Cindy.

 

I spent tons of time at his house and with his family, and I've forever cherished those moments. That part of my life was fun, and sad, and happy and those people were such a huge part of that person I once was. As always after a death, I regret not catching up, not keeping in touch, and so perhaps in Greg's memory that will be my new resolution for next year. I have many people from my four phases of life, and I would love to reach out and touch them before it is too late. Because for better or for worse, we were once connected in a wonderful, full-on life that helped shape us in some form and what better excuse to reach out is there than that?

Hugs to Greg's children, his siblings, his grandchildren, and hugs to Cindy who will forever be linked to him via the children. Greg was a hell of a man, and I'm so blessed to have called him a friend.