Author's forward:

{It has taken me ten long years to get to the point where I could talk about this without crying. I hope you will all forgive me for taking time and space here, to remember the best man I ever knew.}

10 years ago, there lived a man. A man who was at the same time, my cousin (2nd or 3rd), my hero, my brother. His name was George Pearsoll, and he was the only man on this planet I can honestly say, I loved. Had I been born properly, I would have gladly had his children, and they would have had the most wonderful, decent, understanding Father anyone could hope for.

George, or "Mikey" as my friends and I called him, knew about Catherine, long before anyone else did, yet he never laughed, he never sneered. He only treated me with the quiet dignity he was known so well for. He had the knack of making everything I ever accomplished, no matter how small and trivial, seem like the most important thing that had ever happened. He always, always made me feel good about myself.

Mikey was a power lifter, a bodybuilder. 380 pounds of muscle with a heart of gold and the disposition of a male Rebecca Of Sunnybrook Farm.

He died on a sumer day. A beautiful, sunny summer day that, for me, turned into the blackest, most stormy, tempest tossed day of my life. I got the call that he was being taken to the hospital and, before I could get there, a matter of only a block or two, he was...gone. A second heart attack had finally stilled that mighty heart.

When he died, a part of me died with him. My best friend for 35 years, gone. A virally caused heart attack, the doctors said, caused the first attack which he survived. But it weakened his heart, and the second attack took him. So quickly did it happen, according to the doctors, that he probably didn't even have time to think, "Oh damn. This is it."

I never got to say goodbye. I had to say it at the hospital, after that wonderful sprit had departed. Even though he knew I loved him, we both knew it wasn't possible for us to be together.

For ten years I have lived...survived might be a better word, missing him every minute of every hour of every day. So often, something would happen during my day and I'd think, "I can't wait to get home and call Mikey to tell him about it." and then I'd remember that he was gone...and I'd cry.

Mikey, wherever you are, I know it's a much better place for having you in it. I hope, when my time comes, we will see one another again. You were my hero, my love, my life, and I will never forget you. Neither will the thousands of people you touched. Your memory will live in their memories, as it does in mine.

On his tombstone it says, "George 'Mikey' Pearsoll. Teacher Philosopher Friend." He was all that to me and so much more.

Mikey, I thank you for gracing my life with yours, and I love you...then, now, and forever.

R.I.P. my friend, my love.

Catherine Linda Michel

P.S. Thank you all for allowing me this time and moment. I couldn't speak at his funeral. Not that they wouldn't let me...I simply couldn't speak at all. If I had been able to, what's above is what I would have said, word for word, and let the devil take the hindmost.