At Mass this week, your name was read from our parish’s Chantry Book, commemorating the anniversary of your death, May 3, 2004. Every year when I hear “George Biggers Leatherwood” called out, I sigh and think, “I miss you, Brother.”
I miss your chuckle, your smile, your sense of humor Your ability to cut right through any b.s. and speak the truth I miss your love for your wife and your kids And your self-effacing way of dealing with life
Mostly, I miss our born connection to each other, our friendship I carry you with me every day so it’s not as if you are ever far Still, I could use a hug from you or a little bit of teasing I could also use your "That's the truth" on my assessment of a situation
You are irreplaceable, without a doubt I am better off having had you, that is for sure Our relationship helped me to know what real love, sibling or not, is all about: Feeling seen, valued, and understood
Thank you for that, George I am grateful to have had you for as long as I did I trust you are at peace And that thought makes me happy, my friend.
I am a native Texan who has lived for the past 30 years in Southern California. I am a published author of both short memoir and fiction, a two-time Pushcart nominee, a nationally award-winning writing coach, an editor, as well as a Licensed Professional Counselor in the state of Texas. In addition, I am the mother of three grown daughters of whom I am extremely proud, a grandmother of four darling children and the wife of a man I still love after 44 years.
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Thank you, Len. This is particualrly poignant for me right now, and I especially appreciate the recognition of the born connection, It is never quite the same in any other relationship, no matter how close. It’s like someone knows you, warts and all, and still loves you. My heart goes out to you as you remember your brother.
20 Minutes a Day 
Thank you, Len. This is particualrly poignant for me right now, and I especially appreciate the recognition of the born connection, It is never quite the same in any other relationship, no matter how close. It’s like someone knows you, warts and all, and still loves you. My heart goes out to you as you remember your brother.