Memories of George
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Please share your memories and photos of George using the form at the bottom of the page.
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I learned to be a doctor by watching my dad. The lesson took decades. The first lesson I learned is that he worked…ALOT. He would be gone at 6 in the morning and wouldn’t come home until dinner…or later. He would go out at night and worked a lot of weekends. But what did he do?
Reality struck one Saturday morning as a kid. I got up early to have cereal and discovered a package of glass syringes in the refrigerator door. I immediately alerted Tim…”there’s shots!” We all hid under our beds. Eventually we had to come out to take our medicine. And dad gave us our vaccinations in order of seniority.
During our childhood, there was plenty of opportunity for “on the job training”. Dad sewed up our cuts, burned off our warts and filled out our Boy Scout physical forms. He even taught several merit badges…like First Aid, Safety and Public Health.
When we were older, we took turns going with him on hospital rounds. This would take hours as we shuttled between Sacred Heart, Deaconess, Holy Family and the Valley. Usually, we’d wait in the hall while he checked on his patients. It was boring. Frequently, the nurse would come out of the room and say, “we just love your dad!” The best part of rounds was the glazed donuts in the doctor’s lounge.
In high school, I wanted to be a scientist. At a similar age, my Dad wanted to be an engineer. But, once I got to college, I realized basic research was tedious…and lonely. I decided to take another look at medicine and spent several summers on the job. I started at the bottom … working as a nurse’s aide at Alderwood Manor and an orderly at University Hospital. With a little luck, I got into NYU medical school.
After my surgical rotation at Bellevue Hospital, my dad tried to get me interested in his field. He let me assist in several surgeries in Spokane…an experience that would probably be impossible today. I mainly held retractors and cut sutures.
Now, not everyone is cut out to be a surgeon A surgeon had to rely on their knowledge of anatomy, physiology and pathology. For most of his career, my Dad operated without the benefit of CAT scans or MRIs. An exploratory laparotomy was still being done to “find out what’s going on.” Once you make the first incision there’s total commitment. It’s a scary feeling.
After a couple of procedures, I had to tell my dad that surgery wasn’t for me. His attempt to bring his son into the fold had failed. But I gained new respect for my father. He was a wizard in the OR. Have you ever seen someone tie a knot with one hand? Try that with thread.
My operating room experience taught me more than “I don’t want to be a surgeon”. It taught me that medicine is a team effort. The surgeon is in charge, but everyone is important and valued. Once again I heard the OR nurse echo, “We just love your Dad!”
One of the most important things I learned from George Girvin was his bedside manner…he was calm, caring and compassionate. It not only made me a better physician, but also a better friend, father and husband. Thanks, Dad!” Rob Girvin
I was involved in the Spokane chapter of Physicians for Social Responsibility(PSR) where I met George who was an esteemed physician. His participation in the chapter brought a gravitas to its activities. I remember feeling humbled and in awe of him and loved his quiet demeanor and smile.
George was a special man and a friend to many. I remember skiing with him when he was well past ninety years old. We skied Mt. Spokane together and he skied the whole mountain.
I have known George and Lila since 1986 as members at the UUCS . I always respected what they brought to the UU community, with Lila’s art and George’s knowledge. When I suffered a TIA in 2014 I asked George for help understanding my doctor’s tests, because no one else would. He graciously explained what he saw in the tests, and always asked me, each Sunday he saw me, how I was feeling. For me, your dad was a fountain of knowledge, generously sharing his knowledge. He was and always will be an inspiration of truly caring about people’s well-being. I am forever in his debt. You are blessed to have George and Lila as your parents.
Kindness, just amazing kindness, backed up by fierceness and courage. Lila, you were my portal to George. I remember meeting him at your home one day, might even been the shower you hosted for our soon to be born daughter 38 or so years ago. His smile would light up the room. His thoughtful, loving presence created a space of safety. I’ve lived life too busy, and didn’t make the time to nourish my relationship with George. I have few regrets in life, but one of them is this missed opportunity. COVID and the breakdown of the Unitarian Universalist Community in Spokane meant further degrees of separation.
I was shocked and saddened when I heard about your death, George. Gone was that opportunity for skiing together at Mt. Spokane. Gone was the feeling of your arm on my shoulder and the glint in your eye. I know you’re out there in spirit form – doing good and making mischief. I often speak of the irrepressible spirit of life. That spirit is you, George. And I miss you. With love,
What I think about, when I recall memories of Dad, was his exultant whoops and yells–whether that’s skiing and a downhill rip of an end-of-day run on the snowy mountains. Or the abrupt billowing of the sails in a burst of winds, “here we go yahoo!”–or the happy shout-out of a toboggan run through the snow–“woo-hoo!”
He was full of exuberant energy, he loved to live boldly, with gusto and adventure. Towards the end–the last number of years, I yelled out in our weekly calls–“hey Popper!” and he’d call back, “hey Timmer!” a name coined for me by his mother, Momo–Hazel Girvin. And, even in the strain of his latter years–he still approached everything with energy and enthusiasm. That always upbeat demeanor that he characterized, served him to the end–to the marvel and wonder of us all. That’s what a remember the most about him–this celebrative and upbeat attitude–something to hold dear in my own mind, memory. And my life, going forward, step by step, remembering the marvelous vitality and commitment to living fully, consciously, and a vital will to live.
This is what I remember–and grateful everyday, for that–71 years that we have shared. I look at his pictures every day and think–“wow, what a wonderful life.”
May loving memories continue to bless George’s family and friends with inspiration and peace.
I had the privilege of working with Dr Girvin in his office from 1980-1987. He was one of the kindest men I have known and over the years I’ve thought of him often. His office schedule was always packed…I don’t think he ever turned down a fellow dr referring a patient to him. I realized those referring doctors knew their patient would be very well taken care of physically and emotionally.
He used a phrase I still use.. if there was a lot going on and something new entered the situation, he’d say “I’ll deal with that later.” Being able to prioritize comes in very handy…thank you, Dr George Girvin! A wise and gentle man… may your family continue to be blessed by his legacy!
George Girvin was my neighbor for more than half my life. That is one of the great blessings of my life. George exuded so much goodness that his presence–I think this now as I reflect on his beautiful life as I experienced it–cast an aura in the world. He was the highest expression of masculinity, rock-like strength wrapped in deep quiet combined with infinite compassion and the tenderness of a heart so loving that you could always feel it, whether you were in his presence or not. As I feel it right now. (I guess, based on something one of his boys once told me, that he was a pretty competitive sailor, but I never experienced that edge in him.) I do know, though, that this extraordinarily gentle man was no shrinking violet. In expressing his respect for a public health doc whom we both knew and admired, George once told me, “I’m surprised he went into public health. That’s not where the action is.” Thus spake the surgeon who was born for the life and death action of operating rooms. The love that George shared with his beloved Lila made a marriage and family that was like something out of a fairy tale. I’m so grateful that I got to share that fairy tale with them. Its real substance was spirit that will never die. Thank you, George, for the gift of your friendship. Sail on, Doc!
Oh my goodness, I am soooo sorry to hear this. I really loved your Dad. I thought he was such a lovely person. His energy was very soft and gentle and healing. The only good thing about this is that he and Matthew are together now. I know that Matt met George when he crossed over. Matthew was there waiting and smiling his cute little grinny-grin at George. Please hug and kiss sweet Lila for me.
An important star has fallen from my sky …