Curious Traveler | C.J. Fitzwater
Feb 8, 2024
“To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.” Mary Oliver from “In Blackwater Woods”.
Standing in the queue at the funeral home on High Street in Newburyport, I was enveloped by unfamiliar faces, all converging to pay tribute to our mutual friend, Bill Greilich. Among the attendees were two men I had never met before, symbolizing the vast, unseen connections Bill had fostered throughout his life. As we gathered in that lobby, it struck me how life’s inevitable cycles bring us together, especially in moments of loss.
This January was particularly harsh, we had back to back “in three’s” marking the departure of six individuals linked to our magnetism. Among them was Melissa J. (Cinnamond) Murphy, a brave soul who battled primary pulmonary hypertension for two decades, hoping for a heart and double lung transplant that never came. Her passing on Jan. 24, at the age of 46, left a void filled with memories of her kindness and selflessness.
Earlier in the week, we had dinner with our dear friend Tony Montisanti, and his partner, Jade who were in Salisbury to mourn two losses including his granddaughter. We also bid goodbye to Sheila Waller Teheen, a friend not yet 50, celebrated for the warmth and joy she brought to her pool parties and social gatherings, and Helen Henwood, a committed community servant and advocate for her political beliefs, whose commitment to activism and her family will not be forgotten. The consecutive nature of these losses highlights the delicate thread of existence and the deep absences they create in our lives.
Bill Greilich brought us together to offer condolences to his family. Absorbing the mosaic of stories shared by those waiting with me. It was like assembling a human jigsaw puzzle, wondering if the person ahead was a coworker of Bill’s, a friend from high school, college, or perhaps the friend of his children. Bill’s constellation of connections was vast and varied; he truly was a beloved star.
The following morning, at the Unitarian Church on Pleasant Street, we gathered in box pews, a fitting arrangement that mirrored our interconnected lives. The selection of “Solsbury Hill” played on the grand piano set a reflective tone, further deepened by Danielle Vyas’s reading of Jane Hirshfield’s “When Your Life Looks Back,” a poignant meditation on life’s fleeting nature. Nicholas and Jerry ‘Wheels’ Wells, Bill’s son and college friend, each shared remembrances of Bill. Nicholas shared memories of a truly remarkable father, opening with Bill was made to be a dad. Wheels spoke about how special it was to have a friend like Bill. We all felt a part of Wheel’s message. Bill’s generous spirit and the diverse relationships he nurtured, illustrating his role as the ‘sheep dog’ of his friends, and family, but also Salisbury.
Monique in the eulogy gave a timeline of Bill’s life, focusing on her relationship with him, his relationship with his children, and what each of Bill’s planets meant to him. Bill lived a fabulous life.
Bill’s son, Paul’s reading from Khalil Gibran’s “On Children” offered a philosophical perspective on parenthood and legacy, encapsulating the essence of guiding the next generation with wisdom and love.
Departing from the charming church I had long admired from afar—a structure whose steeple I had captured in photographs numerous times, yet never ventured inside to explore its spirit and essence, dating back to the 18th century—I headed to The Blue Ocean Event Center in Salisbury for a mercy meal. There, alongside my close friends Lance Wisniewski, Michael Colburn, and others who formed part of Bill Greilich’s Salisbury planet, we immersed ourselves in sharing and absorbing tales of our good friend. Bill was a man of kindness, always with a strategy in mind, frequently seeking my input on various matters.
Unbeknownst to me were the true extents of Bill’s health challenges; despite his subtle hints, I chose to have hope over acknowledgment, clinging to belief until the moment Monique’s text message that his passing arrived. It seems a common thread among us to live much of our lives in denial of our mortality, a theme echoed in the closing lines of Jane Hirshfield’s poem “When Your Life Looks Back.” “Mortal, your life will say, As if tasting something delicious, as if in envy. Your immortal life will say this, as it is leaving.”
To me this stanza muses on the richness of mortal existence with a hint of envy from the immortal as it departs.
Wheels concluded his remembrance with lyrics from a powerful song that ended the album Abbey Road. “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make,” a verse that beautifully encapsulates the essence of our gathering and the legacy left behind by those we mourned.
I think we all long for the love received at the end by my friends. They are stars in the face of the sky.
Salisbury resident C.J. Fitzwater is a curious traveler, perpetually on the lookout for fresh frontiers. With each journey, he blends historical threads into his stories. Email him at: cfitzwater@ymail.com
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