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A Sad Passing
I am very sad to tell you that George Forrester, the George of George's Shake, has died at the age of 66. I am going to take the time to tell you of his story because he is such a part of this community. George grew up in San Francisco. His early life was not pretty and involved being involved in some pretty dark places. He became addicted to heroin, spent some time in the federal penitentiary and gained skills as a chemist as he learned to manufacture methamphetamine. I first met George when he had 10 years clean and sober. He was actively involved in 12 step programs, was highly respected in the community and was working hard to live a full life. He came to my clinic in San Francisco and told me that he felt like he was dying, he could hardly get out of bed. He wondered if he had chronic fatigue and was severely depressed. He was thin, grey and sallow. I asked him what he was eating and no surprise, he reported "no breakfast, mostly white things, lots of coffee and lots of soda and sweets." So we started on the food program - the same one you all do. The transformation in George was striking. His color came back, his energy came back, his depression lifted, and he gained weight and LOVED the program. He started volunteering at the clinic. I talked to him about going back to school. He had never finished high school, but had completed a GED while in prison. He was scared out of his mind to try school, but I suggested that if he got into the alcohol and drug counseling program, he would do well. I suggested he take psychopharmacology as his first course because he would like the subject. He did and got an A+. He was so excited when he got his grade. He stuck with it, got an A in every course and ended up with a certificate in Alcohol and Drug Counseling. He went on to do the advanced course as well, and then became certified by CADAAC, a very prestigious group in California. When I started the program for multiple offender drunk drivers that would become the base of my dissertation work, I hired George as the lead counselor. He and I spent many hours sitting in a dingy basement with a threadbare carpet and mold on the walls. But we made the program come alive. It was a perfect team. A man and woman, a street guy and a Ph.D. candidate. The guys trusted us and listened. The 92% success rate you often hear about came from that team talking about the food. During this time, I made the decision to move to New Mexico. I started commuting back and forth for a while and learned about the real estate market in New Mexico. I told George that he could buy property in NM and have something that he owned. The idea of owning a house had never been a part of his dreams since California prices were not in the working man's potential. I found a house for $40K, found a person to walk George through buying it. He talked about being a NM "Land Baron". After a while, George leveraged that little house into a 3 bedroom, modest home with a view of the mountains. He moved to New Mexico and got a job as a counselor with a program that took drunk drivers into the mountains for a kind of outward-bound experience. George loved New Mexico. He fished and drove his black car for miles and miles. He camped and roamed. But New Mexico is a funny place, this land of light. If you don't take care of the inside journey, it will eat you up. George's recovery started to slip. His house went. Last Fall he ended up in the hospital for what they thought was a heart problem. He got a staph infection and started on OxyContin, a potent narcotic, and benzodiazepines for anxiety. He was in the hospital for 6 weeks and started having panic attacks. He ended up leaving the hospital against medical advice and felt that alcohol was the only way through coming off the other drugs. Life was very bleak and dark as he fell into that hole. About 3 weeks into the darkness, I got a call from a California friend who told me what was happening. I went over to the house with the view of the mountains and found George, close to death. I took him to the hospital. I learned that NM has no options for detox, no rehab, nothing. So I got a prescription for Valium to get us through a detox and took George back to my house. We went though detox minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour and day-by-day. For about a month, I made all the meals, provided the food. He was like a man resurrected. He started going to meetings every day and started putting his life back together. He was clear, focused and there. I talked to him about moving from the living room out into my office - a space I had recently renovated to use to see clients. I figured it would give him some autonomy and independence as he sorted out next steps. He started drinking soda, eating sweets, skipping meals, all the stuff we all know so well. And he stopped being connected. Things stopped working. When things stop working, the darkness comes back. And in the darkness, we think that the answer can't be found and that drinking is the only way to hold the pain. He died alone in a motel room. But he gave his 'home' address as mine, so rather than becoming a John Doe of the county, I was visited by a detective. I will honor him in death in a way that he could not honor himself. His death has touched me deeply. Those of you who have read Potatoes Not Prozac know that my father's death started the journey we all now share. George's death will take it to another level.
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