When my nephew and I proof read the death notice for my father, George P. Corkinos, we both missed that extraneous "r" at first. Everything we have done as a family this past week has been in a collective state of disbelief. It is hard to accept that this man is no longer here with us. Usually when a human reaches the age of 91, people shake their heads and say how sorry they are, but the word shock does not usually come up as it has this week. My father was so vivacious and charming- no one believed he was as old as he was. He had a great run.
His name was actually George P. Cokinos. The 'P' is important. There is my cousin, George A. Cokinos, my nephew, George S. Cokinos and and my cousin Mark, who is actually George M. Cokinos. (He has a son named George as well- George N.) ( Or maybe it's Nicholas George) And that's just off the top of my head. Believe me, I could go on.
My father was on a cruise ship when he fell. My sister says he was wearing sneakers that were too big, but they were a bargain so he loved them. He had been in Florida since New Year's Eve, tanning on the roof of his condo every day that the sun shone. The ship was in port in Mexico when he tumbled down a short flight of stairs. He was airlifted first to a hospital in Cozumel, then to Fort Lauderdale, but he never recovered.
He went out doing something he loved, traveling with my mother and my sister, tanned and vibrant. Whether it was a brief meeting or a lifetime of friendship, he always made an impact on everyone who crossed his path. (I've actually felt sorry for a car salesman in his presence.)
George was kind. His sense of humor was unique. His special name for me was Gunga Din. "Gunk" for short. What could be funnier than that?
Only about a million stories which I hope to keep adding here.
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