Tell them, "Thank you"

Thank You for What, Who, When, and Why

When a person knows he is dying, with mere weeks left to go, what enters his mind? What important thing settles in his thoughts that he must do before he dies? A host of friends, family, and other folks in Woodland Park are finding out. Greg Schilling is winding out his last days with a steady series of personal encounters that well displays his courage, care, and concern for others with the hallmark measure of Greg’s life. After so many friends have come by to sit with him, Greg has asked to publicly say, “Thank you.” He wants to make sure that everyone knows how grateful he is.

“I need to say thank you to so many people. Can you do that for me? Can you write something that tells each of these marvelous people how thankful I am?”

There are times — maybe two — when I have told Greg, “No.” The other fifty times I have said, “Yes.” This is a common exchange for hundreds of us. We are all close and personal friends with Greg. One might calculate that some are more close than others. That’s not Greg’s way. He draws everyone close without distinction or discrimination. Years ago he did it with a hand on your shoulder. Then, as he began to bend in his gait he grabbed you by the back of the arm. Eventually, with sweet familiarity as he used everyone and the walls and furniture to get about he touched your hand. Lately, hands locked onto his walkers (he has strategic walkers placed throughout the Rocky Mountains) Greg scrunches his eyes at you in a plea for intimate attention. Resistance, 90% of the time, is futile.

Unfortunately, Greg has asked the impossible. I began a calculation of the folks that he rattled off to me. I attempted to recapture the fifteen or so names that he mentioned, and then racked my memory with each one’s particular kindness that deserved thanks. I gave up. The list is not just too long. It’s too much detailed gratitude. Frankly, Greg wants to include way too many people for anyone to list. That’s because Greg’s retinue of important people to thank numbers something close to every person he’s ever met. “Oh, and you should mention ….” 

The task to enumerate Greg’s thank you list undeniably requires that I leave out the names of folks. It’s not just about failing to mention someone very important to Greg. Everyone is important to Greg.

The good news for me in my inability to capture the crucial catalogue of important folks to thank is that Greg really wants to thank everyone anyway. The only people he officially said I could leave out are the members of his family. “They already know how thankful I am,” he said. Even so, he spent most of his time telling me how terrific is every member of his family. So, rather than forgetting someone, I’m bundling everyone into the same group along with his family. That’s how Greg views most folks anyway. Except for Peggy. All of us know that, though.

The simplicity of Greg’s request, followed up by its unending complexity, isn’t a dying man’s last request. Greg’s thank you request is actually his philosophy of life. It is how almost every conversation he has had over his nine decades of life has either begun or ended. Greg says “Thank you” with his whole self. He leans forward to make sure his acknowledgment carries weight and emphasis. He looks you right in the eye. It’s his defining character trait. Thank you is Greg’s life work.

“Everybody has been so kind to me,” he said, sitting at the threshold of his greenhouse, a blanket covering him. It’s 90 degrees in his carefully constructed home of solar and mass brilliance. The last days are here. “I need to say thanks.” Even in his weakened state, his head leaned back every few moments to strengthen himself, his need to give constant and necessary thanks drives him.

There is genius in Greg’s philosophy. Saying thank you solves every negotiating difficulty and awkward confrontation, in addition to its simple and generous politeness. Greg seems to fear no exchange. He can establish contact with anyone. Four introductory words from Greg sound familiar to the hundreds and certainly thousands of people he has known. “We need to talk.” Most folks say, “Hello.” Greg approaches everyone with personal and engaging familiarity. “You got a minute? We need to talk.” Wait staff, store clerks, neighbors, priests, family members, and even God hear the same intimate appeal. Whether he has a “bone to pick” with someone, or high praise — ranging from the quality of a tomato to the chaos in the cosmos — Greg politely introduces himself by hoping for communion between souls. He thrives on the honesty and solidity of sealed friendship. 

The watermark insignia on Greg’s conversations — at the root of his desire to be a friend — he engages the widest range of people I have ever seen. How? He always includes somewhere in the conversation an interjection of thanks. That’s how Greg believes friendship works. Socrates and Mother Teresa agree with Greg. Conversational fearlessness relies upon asking and answering questions. Plato and Pope Francis need to be told about Greg’s keen insight. Be sure and say thank you. 

“By the way, I want to say thank you.“ Greg is not just saying that. “I mean that, sincerely.” Greg can find something to thank in everyone. “Really, you need to know how thankful I am.”

“I want to thank you for …,” and the list goes on. “For what you do,” or, “For who you are.” It seems to Greg that the essential element of every interaction must be thanks. “You know, I don’t agree with anything you just said, but I want to thank you for talking to me.”

If you try and thank Greg back, giving him your own thankful accommodation, you will usually experience a measured correction based upon, “No, I am thanking you.” Sometimes he uses two, three or four no’s in his correction. “No, no, no no. I am thanking you.” The number of his no’s is based upon Greg’s well trained capability for keeping the focus upon the other person in his conversations. It’s been best to just say, “You’re welcome.” Even then, though, he’ll top off that response with, “You are so right. I am very welcome.”

“I am talking to God all the time,” he told me. That means, of course, that God has on record more thank you’s than anyone else. “I am so blessed,” Greg says. So, on top of all the wonderful folks he thanks, Greg compounds each of those thank you’s, doubles down, and sends them directly back to God. Greg has found the formula for divine discourse.

It’s infectious. I have found myself saying thank you to the tools that I use, my truck, and the well-timed green lights. It’s a bit ridiculous, but it is also so right to do so.

I am not kidding. Greg once told me that he doesn’t talk to his plants, the treasures in his greenhouse (which now includes several old and new dear friends who tend to them). He thanks each of the plants for their beauty. “Well, that sounds like talking to them,” I remember saying. “No, no, no. I am thanking them.”

Talking to someone, or some living thing, or even a rock, is not as erudite or even as valuable as thanking them. How can I not agree?

While most of us cannot imagine life without Greg we are going to have to come to grips with it. There is already a giant hole appearing in the many groups of people that Greg frequents. It’s an ozone-like disaster with frightening implications hovering above vast gatherings of those thanked for their mere existence. His forceful insistence upon gratitude mixed into everything from banter to oratory needs reminding. Musicians have little busts of Beethoven staged everywhere to remind them of the discipline to make music in the midst of deafness. Perhaps the glistening wink and craggy smile of Greg, an unforgettable memory, will be enough to remind those of us within Greg’s enormous circle of friends.

In any case, as Greg treasures each of these remaining days with that same drive, and insists that he thanks us, we have a response. “No, no, no, really, no. Thank you, Greg.”

https://www.mountainmemorialfh.com/obituary/Gregory-Schilling