Goodbye Uncle George

When I first met Uncle George in Belfast about five years ago, I could not have known then what an important part of my life he would become.

That evening, having heard of my fear of flying from my parents, he took me aside and proceeded to explain how a few simple relaxation techniques would no doubt cure my completely. Although initially sceptical, I decided to go along with it. There was something about his gentle voice and calm demeanour that appealed to me and put me instantly at ease. But what struck me the most was his confidence, his almost child-like conviction that I would overcome my phobia, and fly without fear.

One week later I flew to London and Uncle was overjoyed to hear that I had had a good flight. A couple of months later I flew back to Belfast and he was at the airport, running through the crowded terminal and hugging me as I arrived. It was a moment I will never forget.

Since then, there have been good flights and bad flights, but it was Uncle George’s voice that has always been in the background, pushing and prodding me on. At Chicago airport two years ago, he spoke, prayed, and even sang into the phone as I prepared for take-off. When I finally landed at Mumbai twenty hours later, I wept not because of my air-sickness but because I felt I had let him down.

But Uncle George never gave up hope. Finally last year as I prepared to come to London, he decided it was time to settle the issue once and for all. He went on to call me every night for three weeks, and on the final night before my flight he prayed and after a few moments of silence said “I will wait to see you here, mone”

The flight the next day was the best one of my life.

Perhaps it was the thought of Uncle waiting at the airport, like he did five years ago, when he hugged me and made me believe that everything was possible once more. Perhaps. And even now though he is gone, for me he will always be waiting at the end of every flight, waiting with a wide smile on his face.

Ever since I met him, I was always unsure about whether to call him Doctor George or Uncle George; to me he was always both, providing me with the advice of a physician and the affection of a family member.

While trying to make me relax, he would often ask me to go to my ‘happy place’ and then ask me to describe it to him. It was all a bit amusing back then, but at this time of deep sorrow perhaps we can draw some comfort in the knowledge that he is now in his happy place, united at last with the one whom he loved and served so well.

Thank You Uncle.