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George Archives - All The Single Girlfriends

For Couples Only

Mar 21, 2011 by

For Couples Only

Disease is not an easy subject for people to chat about. Actually they avoid it at all costs. I always thought that after everything I had been through, I could always count on my girlfriends to lift me up when I was down. Not so, I learned that disease is kind of like divorce it separates you from certain folks. You know how divorce or a break-up causes groups of friends to feel an allegiance to the husband, wife or partner? Well guess what? Sometimes it happens when you lose someone due to death. Here I was feeling my absolute loneliest, eating poorly, and doing everything I could to be strong. I began to see a bereavement counselor to talk to someone – no one would talk to me about it. I blamed myself...

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Two Widows .. Now Equals

Mar 14, 2011 by

Two Widows .. Now Equals

I sat by the stack of RSVP’s for the wedding in June that would not take place. I stared at them a good long while before I picked them up and brought them over to the couch and began to alphabetize them. Normally I am not this anal retentive but, I thought it’d be easier to find their phone numbers and email addresses in my address book. Slowly but surely I was done. Each card had a corresponding number or email address so I could begin contacting the folks who were kind enough to have responded early to the Save The Date and wedding invitations in the morning. Surprisingly a good number of them were from friends that lived out of town. I crashed on the couch embraced by the scent of him. I...

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Ni Hao, Hello My Friends

Mar 7, 2011 by

Ni Hao, Hello My Friends

A few hours later, it had to be just a tad after 8am, the phone rang, being awakened by a phone during an early morning on the weekends when most of the world is in a state of slumber is well, un-nerving.  At this moment, it was completely inappropriate and I was NOT going to answer. We, he and I, never answered the phone and preferred to let the machine (that was older than Methuselah) do the answering for us and we screened our calls. I thought to myself just one more ring and I can see who it is before I decide to pick up the phone – and then the beeeeeeep! I had to listen carefully because the voice sounded weak, like that of a child, almost meek and shy and slowly...

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Waking Up On The Black Couch

Feb 27, 2011 by

Waking Up On The Black Couch

Returning home, the day’s events washed over me like a proper London rain. I was completely soaked in the wet energy of others, their grief and that of my own and could barely walk up the steps to our front door. Throughout the last hours I kept thinking to myself, ‘I have to get through this day, they have to know that they can count on me, be the rock, be the foundation, get this done.’ Upon entering our home, there was a deafening silence. It was so very quiet, void of all of the laughter and filled with the remnants of my rapid departure to the hospital the morning he had slipped from a coma into the beyond. In my haste to find a black outfit, that wasn’t a little black dress, but...

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My Spirit Was Broken But My Heart Was Singing...

Feb 19, 2011 by

My Spirit Was Broken But My Heart Was Singing

George’s mother was a complete wreck as the funeral continued her wails and sobs at the loss of her youngest of 7 children, her ‘happy accident’ as she called him because he was born in her early forties when women of her time were simply not able to have kids, was being laid to rest. She had buried the eldest of her children a boyish man when he was 17 when George was a mere toddler and her husband 3 years prior of the same cancer. I had the idea to play some of George’s favourite music gently in the background so that when people approached the casket that did not hear church music. Portishead and Massive Attack played as softly as trip-hop could possibly. As her screams and cries echoed in the packed...

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Kiss Me Like A Stranger

Feb 14, 2011 by

Kiss Me Like A Stranger

George – Chapter 1: That this will be read by complete strangers, people who I have not yet met or never, makes this missive seem almost therapeutic. I had come to Atlanta in 1992 to work as interpreter for an international law firm with a large Japanese client.  The assignment soon went from 3 weeks to almost 4 months. Over time I grew weary of law firm take-out food. While I was not vociferous, a young law student and runner for the firm took pity on the quiet French-Italian girl and directed me to the nearest French Bistro. It was a quaint place, small table, pseudo-bohemian students with a portrait of Miles Davis that nearly eclipsed a wall separating the bar from the main dining room. I sat facing it the right side of...

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