Saying goodbye is never easy. Finding the right words can be even harder.
Yesterday, I shared these words at George’s Celebration Of Life, in Montreal – words shaped by 30 years of friendship. I am sharing them here in memory of a man whose spirit left a lasting imprint on all of us.
I struggled with how to honor George today.
When someone has been part of your life for 30 years, where do you even begin? The stories? The laughter? The milestones? I kept turning it over in my mind, wanting to do him justice.
And then I remembered last year.
Monica and I came from Toronto to visit him. Our beloved Caterina — protective and loving as always — gently warned us. She didn’t want us to see him in what she called a “terrible” physical condition. She wanted us to remember him strong.
But we came anyway.
We brought his favorite meals. His favorite snacks. The little comforts that say, “We know you. We love you. We’re here.”
Yes, his body was declining. And yes, there were moments over the years when his spirit seemed to bend under the weight of illness, time, and circumstance.
But bending is not breaking.
When we walked into that room, I didn’t see defeat. I saw resilience. He didn’t say much — he didn’t need to. He spoke with his eyes. With that look I had known for decades.
My George was still there. *
And as I remembered that visit, my struggle with what to say today suddenly disappeared. It became clear to me. Today is not about the body that weakened. It’s about the spirit that endured.
And he endured, in large part, because of his love for Caterina. He worried about her constantly. He did not want to leave her alone. That strength — that determination — was guided by love.
When I first met George in Cyprus in 1996, he left an impression immediately. He had presence. Firm. Stern when he needed to be. No nonsense. No pretending.
There’s a Greek word that describes him well: αγέρωχος.
It means proud. Upright. Steadfast.
Now, was he steadfast every single day? No. None of us are. Life bends all of us at times.
But George never stayed down.
He would bend… and then he would steady himself again. That quiet strength. That refusal to let circumstances define him. That’s what I admired.
If he respected you, you knew it — and that respect meant something. He carried dignity. Even in silence, he had strength.
Spirit isn’t about never bending. It’s about rising again.
And George rose, again and again.
I also cannot speak about George without speaking about the heroine beside him.
Caterina.
Through every difficult year after they returned to Canada, she stood by him. Devoted. Steady. Strong in ways that deserve more recognition than words can give.
Caterina, you protected his dignity. You honored the man he was — especially on the days when life felt heavy.
George worried about you. His heart was always with you.
But Caterina mou, you have a strength of your own. You will rise, just as he did so many times. And his spirit will remain with you — guiding you, protecting you, loving you.
We love you.
Monica and I are here for you — anytime, for anything you need. This is not a formality. It’s a promise.
George, my friend…
You may have bent at times — but you always found your way back to standing tall.
Your spirit lives on.
And we are better for having known you.
Rest in peace, my friend.
*“My George” is not meant as a claim, but as a reflection of my personal relationship with him. We each carry our own version of the people we love, shaped by shared moments, history, and connection. The George I carry in my heart is one of many beautiful versions that existed in the lives of others.
For translation in other languages, see the buttons at the bottom.
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