I remember clearly what day it was that I heard. I'd just gotten a phone call from the Bishop's secretary, summoning me to Lincoln for my dressing down. I was still shaken by that when I read an email from my mother telling me that Georgi had died. It was September 24th, my husband's birthday. Not a good start to the day.
I met George (her real name) at church. She and her partner, Bruce, had just moved to Woodbury and joined the Adult Choir that night. I was a senior in high school, and since I was a soprano, George sat next to me. As soon as she opened her mouth to sing, I knew I was going to like this woman! She was funny and seemed right at home in our choir, engaging me in conversation. I learned she taught voice and piano lessons, so I talked to my Mom that night about letting me take voice with Georgi. I loved singing-- I didn't want to sing any solos, I wasn't that confident, but I wanted to sing for the pure pleasure of singing. I sang in the church choir and my high school choir for the same reason. The year before, my high school choir had done "Carmina Burana"-- a pure high for me personally, an experience I will never forget.
Since we didn't have a piano, I arranged it so that I could go to Kay's house for my lessons, and have my lesson after Kay had hers. I was a shy kid with few close friends in high school, the kind who spent my weekends at home with a good book. But I could sense that George was someone I wanted to get to know better. She was funny, beautiful, and deeply in love with Jesus. She had a simple faith, and took life as it came. So every week I'd drive over to Kay's house and park behind George's maroon Honda Prelude. I went early so I could listen to George give her lesson to Kay, inevitably I'd get to hear George sing.
The first song she taught me was "Looking Through the Eyes of Love." It was a love song from "Ice Castles," but she told me to sing it to God. We went over and over that song. She'd sing it then I'd sing it. I was timid about letting loose with my voice, and the song required a little more power, so I guess that's why I remember going over that song more than any other. But I stood next to George, who sat on the piano bench, and I just felt good being next to her, with her attention on me, listening to her sing. She was one of the few people who called me "Peggy Sue," a nickname I picked up at summer camp while trying to transition from my middle name Sue to Peggy.
"Now c'mon, Peggy Sue," George would say, "I know you can get this." And we'd do it again, her fingers gently moving up and down the keyboard.
Sometimes my parents dropped me off for my lesson because they needed the car, and those were my favorite times, because it meant that George had to give me a ride home. When she did, she'd pull up into my driveway and stop the car. But I wouldn't leave. I didn't want to leave her, I always wanted to spend time in her presence. She was one of those adults who made me feel less invisible, and like I had something to offer the world. I wanted to soak that in for awhile every chance I could. So we'd sit for awhile and talk, Amy Grant playing on the cassette player, in the glow of the dashboard lights. Sometimes she turned off the engine, sensing that this was going to be awhile. Finally, she'd say, "You gotta go home, Peggy Sue, and I need to go home and go to bed!" She'd reach around and hug me, kiss me on the cheek, and looking me straight in the eye, say, "I love you Peggy Sue," and gently nudge me out the door. I felt I'd received a blessing and I could go on.
In the spring of my senior year, I happened to mention that there were auditions coming up for a musical revue at school. The main theme was "Oklahoma!" but the whole show was made up of music from various musicals. George didn't miss the opportunity. She informed me that I was going to try out for the part of Laurey. Why start small? Why not go for the main part? I laughed. No way. I wasn't interested in solos, I just wanted to sing for pleasure. She wouldn't hear it. She thought I had a beautiful voice and I needed to rise to the challenge. I didn't want to disappoint her, but everyting inside of me was absolutely terrified, to the point of making me ill! She insisted I sign up to audition.
The night before the audition, George and I went to the church to practice "People Will Say We're In Love." Over and over and over again. Every time she wanted to wrap it up and go home, I begged to try again. I was sick to my stomach. I did not see how I was going to live through the audition! I was terrified. Finally, she insisted it was time to go home. She drove me home, and instinctively turned off the engine. In the glow of the dashboard lights, she gave me a pep talk. She said she'd be praying for me, that I had as good a chance as the other girls who "always" got the solos. She always looked me in the eye when she spoke to me. She ruffled my hair. "I love you, Peggy Sue, you're going to be fine!"
But before I got out of the car, ever so reluctantly, she said, "And don't come back tomorrow night and tell me you didn't get it!" and she drove off. What??? Oh God.
I went to bed but couldn't sleep. I was so sick I thought I'd throw up. I made myself some herbal tea and drank it in bed. I didn't sleep all night. I didn't want to let George down, but nothing in me believed I could beat out the other girls for the part.
But I did.
That night when I went to church choir practice, George was waiting with a funny look on her face. Turns out she didn't sleep either. She felt so guilty for the last thing she'd said to me that she was so nervous that I didn't get the part! We both laughed when I was able to tell her I got it. I couldn't believe she cared that much.
The night of the performance, George and Bruce were in the audience. She met me afterwards with a handful of roses. She was so proud of me. Just because I did it. I don't think the performance was all that impressive because I was so terrified I could barely breathe much less keep my supper down, but I did it. That was what mattered. I did it.
Over the following years, George and I did a lot of duets together in church and I gained more confidence with her by my side. During college breaks I'd spend a lot of time just hanging out at George and Bruce's apartment. I went there when I was depressed and just needed to not be alone, but I also went to just be in her presence. George made me feel better. She and I baked cookies, sometimes made dinner together. I'd tag along on trips to flea markets with her and Bruce. I'd go down to their house at the shore and have dinner with them, go to the boardwalk and shop with George. When my friend Sandie died, I just wanted to be around George even more. We didn't have to talk about Sandie. She just knew that my heart was crushed and I just needed some company and to be loved. Sometimes I just sat on her couch and held her stuffed dog Muttsy.
A couple of times George and I worked together for the same company, once she was my boss in a small insurance office. Whenever we could, we sang together at church. She sang at my wedding. She sang at my parents' 50th anniversary party. When I moved to Nebraska, we were out of touch for awhile, because she didn't write, but whenever we got back together it was like no time had passed. She came up to Tilden, NE when she had to fly out for a conference in Lincoln. She spent the weekend with us, and I got to share my new family with her.
I found out about her death about 10 days after it happened. Bruce has been long gone himself, of a rare disease, so there was no one to think to call me. I hadn't seen George for a few years, but again, with us that didn't matter. I'd been able to be at her wedding to her new husband Vince, and I knew she was happy. She had ovarian cancer, discovered very late.
There's a song by Celtic Women, called "Send Me a Song," which is very fitting and beautiful. I listened to that song over and over after I learned of George's death. The day I had to go to the Bishop's office, I could imagine George in the room with me, rolling her eyes at the Bishop, and saying to me, "relax, Peggy Sue. You're ok. I love you."
One night I prayed that God would let George send me a song. A day or so later, as I lay down to nap, I heard the song in my head, word for word, "Looking Through the Eyes of Love."
"Please, don't let this feeling end, it might not come again, and I want to remember.... how it feels to touch you, how I feel so much. Since I found you.... looking through the eyes of love....
..And now, I do believe, that even in the storm we'll find some light. Knowing you're beside me, I'm alright....."
She sent me a song. Our song. Our first song together, when she kept trying to remind of God's love for me. And God reminded me of George's love, that time can't lessen, that even death can't separate. So I sing her a song every so often. "Send me a song, and I will sing for you."
I love you George, I can't wait to sing with you again!
I met George (her real name) at church. She and her partner, Bruce, had just moved to Woodbury and joined the Adult Choir that night. I was a senior in high school, and since I was a soprano, George sat next to me. As soon as she opened her mouth to sing, I knew I was going to like this woman! She was funny and seemed right at home in our choir, engaging me in conversation. I learned she taught voice and piano lessons, so I talked to my Mom that night about letting me take voice with Georgi. I loved singing-- I didn't want to sing any solos, I wasn't that confident, but I wanted to sing for the pure pleasure of singing. I sang in the church choir and my high school choir for the same reason. The year before, my high school choir had done "Carmina Burana"-- a pure high for me personally, an experience I will never forget.
Since we didn't have a piano, I arranged it so that I could go to Kay's house for my lessons, and have my lesson after Kay had hers. I was a shy kid with few close friends in high school, the kind who spent my weekends at home with a good book. But I could sense that George was someone I wanted to get to know better. She was funny, beautiful, and deeply in love with Jesus. She had a simple faith, and took life as it came. So every week I'd drive over to Kay's house and park behind George's maroon Honda Prelude. I went early so I could listen to George give her lesson to Kay, inevitably I'd get to hear George sing.
The first song she taught me was "Looking Through the Eyes of Love." It was a love song from "Ice Castles," but she told me to sing it to God. We went over and over that song. She'd sing it then I'd sing it. I was timid about letting loose with my voice, and the song required a little more power, so I guess that's why I remember going over that song more than any other. But I stood next to George, who sat on the piano bench, and I just felt good being next to her, with her attention on me, listening to her sing. She was one of the few people who called me "Peggy Sue," a nickname I picked up at summer camp while trying to transition from my middle name Sue to Peggy.
"Now c'mon, Peggy Sue," George would say, "I know you can get this." And we'd do it again, her fingers gently moving up and down the keyboard.
Sometimes my parents dropped me off for my lesson because they needed the car, and those were my favorite times, because it meant that George had to give me a ride home. When she did, she'd pull up into my driveway and stop the car. But I wouldn't leave. I didn't want to leave her, I always wanted to spend time in her presence. She was one of those adults who made me feel less invisible, and like I had something to offer the world. I wanted to soak that in for awhile every chance I could. So we'd sit for awhile and talk, Amy Grant playing on the cassette player, in the glow of the dashboard lights. Sometimes she turned off the engine, sensing that this was going to be awhile. Finally, she'd say, "You gotta go home, Peggy Sue, and I need to go home and go to bed!" She'd reach around and hug me, kiss me on the cheek, and looking me straight in the eye, say, "I love you Peggy Sue," and gently nudge me out the door. I felt I'd received a blessing and I could go on.
In the spring of my senior year, I happened to mention that there were auditions coming up for a musical revue at school. The main theme was "Oklahoma!" but the whole show was made up of music from various musicals. George didn't miss the opportunity. She informed me that I was going to try out for the part of Laurey. Why start small? Why not go for the main part? I laughed. No way. I wasn't interested in solos, I just wanted to sing for pleasure. She wouldn't hear it. She thought I had a beautiful voice and I needed to rise to the challenge. I didn't want to disappoint her, but everyting inside of me was absolutely terrified, to the point of making me ill! She insisted I sign up to audition.
The night before the audition, George and I went to the church to practice "People Will Say We're In Love." Over and over and over again. Every time she wanted to wrap it up and go home, I begged to try again. I was sick to my stomach. I did not see how I was going to live through the audition! I was terrified. Finally, she insisted it was time to go home. She drove me home, and instinctively turned off the engine. In the glow of the dashboard lights, she gave me a pep talk. She said she'd be praying for me, that I had as good a chance as the other girls who "always" got the solos. She always looked me in the eye when she spoke to me. She ruffled my hair. "I love you, Peggy Sue, you're going to be fine!"
But before I got out of the car, ever so reluctantly, she said, "And don't come back tomorrow night and tell me you didn't get it!" and she drove off. What??? Oh God.
I went to bed but couldn't sleep. I was so sick I thought I'd throw up. I made myself some herbal tea and drank it in bed. I didn't sleep all night. I didn't want to let George down, but nothing in me believed I could beat out the other girls for the part.
But I did.
That night when I went to church choir practice, George was waiting with a funny look on her face. Turns out she didn't sleep either. She felt so guilty for the last thing she'd said to me that she was so nervous that I didn't get the part! We both laughed when I was able to tell her I got it. I couldn't believe she cared that much.
The night of the performance, George and Bruce were in the audience. She met me afterwards with a handful of roses. She was so proud of me. Just because I did it. I don't think the performance was all that impressive because I was so terrified I could barely breathe much less keep my supper down, but I did it. That was what mattered. I did it.
Over the following years, George and I did a lot of duets together in church and I gained more confidence with her by my side. During college breaks I'd spend a lot of time just hanging out at George and Bruce's apartment. I went there when I was depressed and just needed to not be alone, but I also went to just be in her presence. George made me feel better. She and I baked cookies, sometimes made dinner together. I'd tag along on trips to flea markets with her and Bruce. I'd go down to their house at the shore and have dinner with them, go to the boardwalk and shop with George. When my friend Sandie died, I just wanted to be around George even more. We didn't have to talk about Sandie. She just knew that my heart was crushed and I just needed some company and to be loved. Sometimes I just sat on her couch and held her stuffed dog Muttsy.
A couple of times George and I worked together for the same company, once she was my boss in a small insurance office. Whenever we could, we sang together at church. She sang at my wedding. She sang at my parents' 50th anniversary party. When I moved to Nebraska, we were out of touch for awhile, because she didn't write, but whenever we got back together it was like no time had passed. She came up to Tilden, NE when she had to fly out for a conference in Lincoln. She spent the weekend with us, and I got to share my new family with her.
I found out about her death about 10 days after it happened. Bruce has been long gone himself, of a rare disease, so there was no one to think to call me. I hadn't seen George for a few years, but again, with us that didn't matter. I'd been able to be at her wedding to her new husband Vince, and I knew she was happy. She had ovarian cancer, discovered very late.
There's a song by Celtic Women, called "Send Me a Song," which is very fitting and beautiful. I listened to that song over and over after I learned of George's death. The day I had to go to the Bishop's office, I could imagine George in the room with me, rolling her eyes at the Bishop, and saying to me, "relax, Peggy Sue. You're ok. I love you."
One night I prayed that God would let George send me a song. A day or so later, as I lay down to nap, I heard the song in my head, word for word, "Looking Through the Eyes of Love."
"Please, don't let this feeling end, it might not come again, and I want to remember.... how it feels to touch you, how I feel so much. Since I found you.... looking through the eyes of love....
..And now, I do believe, that even in the storm we'll find some light. Knowing you're beside me, I'm alright....."
She sent me a song. Our song. Our first song together, when she kept trying to remind of God's love for me. And God reminded me of George's love, that time can't lessen, that even death can't separate. So I sing her a song every so often. "Send me a song, and I will sing for you."
I love you George, I can't wait to sing with you again!
