I used to worry about him, where he was, what he was doing, who he was with. Is he okay?
Now I cry over him.  I don’t see him any more, I can’t call him, I can’t hug him.  I don’t know where he is.

I used to wonder of what he would be when he grows up, what would he do for a living. Would he be successful, would he enjoy his career, would he take over my business eventually.  Like every other parent I was concerned with where was he going to end up in life.
Now I only think about what he was like when he was a little boy.  I think about his birthday parties and his hockey.  I think about what he used to enjoy, the toys that he used to play with, and I hold onto some of his things that he left behind in my hands, and cry.

I used to call him Thor mostly, sometimes Booboo, and sometimes Andrew.  He was my son, my one and only son.  I would tell him he was my son, and that I was very proud of everything he did and everything he accomplished, as my father was of me.
I find it hard to even say his name now without crying.

I used to think about what he loved and enjoyed doing and his passions.  Where he wanted to travel to – Italy, Israel, Amsterdam.  Where he would go snowboarding in the future, where his kids would learn to ski, where he would settle down and call home.  I think about next summer when we were planning to go to Mexico to learn to surf together.
Now all I can think about is what he will be missing, and what he will never get to do because his life was cut so short.  The things that my son will never experience.

Andrew’s colorful collection

I used to have stuff in my office that had to be sent to him, a pair of sunglasses, a computer cable, headphones, clothes. He always liked receiving packages.  Whatever I sent him made him happy.
Now I keep his most treasured personal stuff on my desk – his headphones he always used, a set of rocks and gems he was collecting in Boulder for me because he knew I loved them, his colorful gauges (sort of earrings) that he changed every day, his huge assortment of tongue barbells and balls he loved to show off in pictures, and his wallet.

I keep his glasses nearby because that is what he looked through to see the world, he saw the world in his own unique way, we all remember him in his Ray Bans.  These were the things that made Andrew Andrew. I look at them everyday and the they make me smile and remind me of him.  They remind me he had a full happy colorful life.

I should be shopping for a suit to wear to his graduation next month,  talking to him about a school ring, and framing his diploma.  Hugging him as he moves on to the next phase of his life with the whole world ahead of him.
Instead, I am writing down his Hebrew name and shopping for his headstone, something a father should never have to do.  Hoping what we pick out he would have liked.

I just miss my booboo so much, he touched so many lives in positive ways and he will be so missed by so many people.

But as with all of my fellow grieving parents, as we say so often, I choose to continue. I choose to get up every day, get out of bed, and continue on with my life.  I choose to live on despite the overwhelming grief.  I choose to spend great quality time with Nicole.  I can even choose once in a while to laugh, to have a good time, to enjoy a nice glass of wine, or enjoy a nice dinner with friends.  Nicole chooses to carry on and play hockey and wear his jersey number.  We choose to live on in Andrew’s honor, in his memory.  I carry him with me everywhere I go, in everything I do, and every word i speak,  He is always with me and on my mind, but I do choose to carry on knowing that is what he would want me and Dorothy and Nicole to do.

He didn’t have a choice, he was taken without warning or say.  But those of us left behind do have a choice, and Andrew, as well as all of our lost children, would want us to live on and enjoy our lives – despite the grief.  We will never forget them, ever.  The hole in our hearts never ever mends.  But we choose to live on in their honor and in their memory – that is the best we can do for them now.

I love you Andrew.
I love you Nicole.

Daddy

A few weeks ago I was with a colleague, Sara (not her real name) who lost an employee in a car accident. This employee and Sara had grown pretty close over the few years he worked for her, and she was understandably pretty upset when he passed.  We were talking for a few minutes when she said that she knew how I felt losing Andrew, and went on to tell me about the death of her employee, and how it was similar to me losing Andrew.  She told me how he called her mom sometimes because she had taken him in and taught him so much.  I just smiled, wished her a lovely day and left, as my business was done.

I was pretty freakin livid.  I think you can understand why.  She compared her employee of three years, no relationship, not family, nothing, and losing him in a car crash, to the loss of my son, my only son, of twenty one years.  Was she that disingenuous, that much removed, that much of the lack of understanding to make this comparison?  I went across the street to another client, who happens to be a very close friend and told him what had happened.  He was as upset as I was, he stood in the same corner as I in thinking how could she possibly be so removed from reality to make this comparison.  It took a few weeks to get this out of the front of my mind, but I eventually moved on, until I told the story to Rich, a coach who I have been friends and a teammate with for many years.

He heard a different conversation with Sara that I had heard.  And he expressed it to me, he told me what he thought of what she said.  He actually made me think about not what she said, but why she said it.  Not about the content, but the cause.  And it hit me, maybe I was just not listening the right way.

Sara was reaching out to me in any way she can.  She had not experienced the loss of her own child, thankfully.  But she wanted to say something and connect to me in some way, and this was her attempt to do it.  She meant no ill will by it, didn’t mean to hurt me or compare herself to me, and more importantly, didn’t mean to minimize my loss.  It was just a way of her reaching out to me in my grief and connecting to me in some way.

I look at that conversation very differently now.  Although it still hurts when people compare their loss of a cousin, or their parent, or a young friend, to the loss of my son, I now realize that it is done innocently and they are attempting to help me, Thank you.

In the same vein as this, there is also the times I have to hear people say we are strong.  And that we are strong to survive this tragedy.  And the same lesson I have learned above helps us get through that comment.  If you have made that comment to us, please do not be offended, we so much appreciate hearing that, and we really appreciate that you are reaching out to us.

But…we are not that strong.  We cry every day.  We find it hard to eat a meal and enjoy it because we feel guilty.  We don’t ever feel like going out and just want to stay home and be with each other, and Nicole.  Some of our friends are taking us out for lunch or dinner, and that is really good for us and we so much enjoy going out with them.  We get to talk to them about life and have a nice meal with them. Not because we are strong, but because we need to.  Not because we are strong, but because we need to live and talk about Andrew, and remember him with others.  Not because we are strong, but because we have no choice.

We are still here, Nicole is still here, Our mothers and nephews and niece are still here.  We need to work and eat and live some sort of life.  Yes, it probably takes strength to get out of bed every morning, and some days we just can’t.  Some days after work we go to bed after dinner, turn off the phones, shut down e-mail, and leave everyone alone because we just don’t have the strength to do anything or talk to anyone.  But we know there is tomorrow, and we have to get up, go to work, talk to people and, as I hate to say it, be strong.

Are we strong?  Is everyone who has lost a child and is  still functioning, strong?  Or are we just surviving, and the strength that we get from our lost children to continue living our lives make us appear to be strong.

I know I find strength to keep going from Andrew and Nicole and Dorothy.  I know my son wants me to live my life and to enjoy life, and do the things he and I never got to do together, even as he has left me. I know that Nicole brings me strength and love every single day by being there for me, by telling me how much she enjoys life and college, and how much she is looking forward to things in the future.  Events that I want to and need to be here for.  And I find strength from Dorothy seeing how she is handling this day by day, how she still manages to go to work every day and function, and how she still cares for her mom all the time.  I also find strength in writing my journal, that I hope is helping people, not just those of us who have suffered the worst loss imaginable, but those of you who try to relate to us, try to reach out to us and be our friends – hopefully my journal opens your eyes as to what we are going through and how much you are helping us.  That is where my strength comes from.

Andrew playing with Peanut at CU Boulder

He actually let me take these pictures while he was relaxing and chasing Peanut

He found great joy in animals, and loved the unconditional love Peanut provided

Andrew was a great kid – really.  He was fun to be around, he smiled all the time, never talked ill about anyone, always saw the positive side of life.  So why did G-d take him from us?  Why did G-d decide not to let our son live out his years on earth with us.  Tyler as well – a great high school student who was taken way too early. And Mark and Kaitlyn,  Jeffrey and Patrick, and so many more.

This is the ultimate question that every parents asks when they lose a child.  Why did G-d choose to take my child and not the next one?  Why did He not let my son live to be a ripe old man, live to let him see his children married, and live to enjoy his grandchildren?  We see bad people, thieves, murderers, ungrateful people, users, wife-beaters, and they live their whole lives out, maybe some of it in jail, but they get the opportunity to live.  They get to be alive for so many years.  Any yet, our children do not. And all we want to know is why.

When they are taken, they leave such a void, they leave such pain and anguish behind.  How can G-d watch the funeral of a child and then take another child.  How can he see the mother of a 21 year old throw herself on her only son’s casket crying, and yet turn a blind eye and take another son from another mother.  How can he watch the baby who lives only seven hours, held by his parents the whole time, read to, talked to, and then take that baby and move on.  How does He do this time after time.

Was it my fault? Was it something I said or did some time that caused this?  Did I upset him, or did I not live a good pious life, was I not enough of a mench, did I not give enough charity? Parents always ask that and dread that it was their fault.

To those parents who ask that, as well as myself, that is a question we can actually answer. No.  And it took me, as well as many others, a while to come to that conclusion  You are not being punished, you did not cause your child’s death by upsetting the Almighty.  No matter what you said, what you thought, what you did or didn’t do, you didn’t cause it, you had no control over it.  Even if I did something wrong, and G-d decided to punish me – He would have to look around and see the consequences of His action.  If He were punishing a single person, then the collateral damage would not be so wide spread and devastating.  He would have to see bubby and grandma, Andrew’s grandmothers, crying and grieving so hard every single day.  He would have to see the pain that his cousins are in from losing such a happy part of their family.    He would have to see his mother not being able to sleep at night, and crying whenever she thinks of her dear sweet son she held in her arms not so many years ago.  How could G-d punish one person, and cause so much grief to others?  Don’t blame yourself – as we have learned not to blame ourselves.  It is a long hard road to travel to realize that and to understand that, but a road that we all must travel in order to be at peace with the question of Why.

The other answer to this is faith.  I know Andrew is in a different place now. I don’t know where, I don’t know why, I know nothing of it.  But I have faith that he is somewhere.  He is with his loved one’s who passed before him.  He is talking to poppy about the garden. He is talking to Keith about college.  He is talking to my father telling him how his son turned out. I am sure he is arguing with Einstein about something he missed.  But I know in my heart he is somewhere.  I don’t know why I think this, but it is faith.  It brings me peace, it brings us all peace.

If there was nothing, just a body that died, that my son was buried, and we put up a headstone one day and that is it, then it would hurt so much more.  If he just died and nothing of his essence, nothing of his soul, nothing of his compassion moved on, then I would be devastated.  But I know that is not the case. I know he moved on, he left his body, he left that dark hole in the ground and moved somewhere else.  All that I taught him, all that he knew about helping others and all that was him had to end up somewhere, and he had to take that all with him.  All I have is my faith that that has happened.  As we all have that faith in anyone who has moved on.  They have simply moved to another dimension, another level of consciousness, another place that we can not understand yet.  But they are somewhere, and we can rest easy knowing that.  We can live out the rest of our lives knowing that one day we will be with them again and we will hug them and talk to them again.  One day we might understand more.  And that brings us peace and enables us to let go.  It enables us to talk about them, to relish in the lives they had, and to know we are okay.

You ask – why? I answer because we have the faith to let them go.  We have the faith that they are somewhere and at that they are peace.  That is all I can offer.

You ask – why mine?  I can’t answer that.  But I can tell you it was not your fault.  There was nothing you could do to save them.  There was nothing you did that caused them to pass. And that you have the faith and strength to believe that – truly believe that.

If you agree, if you do have the faith, if you are at peace, please leave a comment and let others know – it truly helps so many.  If you know someone who blames themselves, please pass this on to them in the hopes it will help them.

This is a little bit different than my normal posts.  It not about Andrew, or our loss of him. It is about the last words, the final words.  The other night at our bereavement group, one of the mothers who lost her boy last year was terribly upset.  She cried and sobbed over the loss of her son openly.  But really what bother her and what gave her grief was the last words they spoke.  He apparently did some physically toiling, sweaty work outside and was going out that night with friends without showering.  She asked him to shower, she implored him to, but all he said was that he did not care and was late for his friends – he twisted his baseball cap around and headed out the door.  As he was running out, she verbally expressed her disappointment with him, quite specifically and with expression, and he was gone.  Not just gone from the house that night, but gone from her life forever – he passed without making it home that night.

And all she could think about, and what she has to live with the rest of her life was that last remark, that last sentence, that last voice of frustration.  And it burns inside of her and is a constant terrible source or pain and anguish.  She could not take the words back, she can not now or ever explain those words.  And she is not alone.

Another family we know had a similar situation.  I do not recall the exact situation, nor the stimulant that caused the friction, nor who said what last, but that there where words said, feelings hurt, and their son left the house, left his home, and they did not talk for weeks afterward – each waiting for the other to break the silence, each waiting for the other to maybe apologize, each waiting for the other to grow up.  But that never happened.  Their son passes as well – the silence never broken, but now the silence is forever.  The frustration over those last words is forever.

We talked about this and two points came up.

One thing you can take from this is that your children are your most precious things in life. How can you fight with them and let it go unresolved.  How can you let them leave the house frustrated, upset, mad?  You never know if the words will be your last.  I have heard many times that one of the secrets to a long lasting happy marriage is that you never go to bed upset or mad at your spouse.  Then how can you possibly let your child, who is so much more fragile and sensitive than your spouse, leave you when they are upset.  How can you let them turn and walk away?  How can’t you call them or text them or reach out to them and offer a settlement, so that you may both go to sleep happy – never knowing if it is the last time they will go to sleep.

Can you live the rest of your life with what you said to them the last time they left your side?

But – we are also parents.  We have to nurture and encourage them. We have to guide them and teach them. We have to set them straight when they drift, we have to discipline them when they break the rules, and we have to treat them like adults when they act like babies. That sometimes includes saying things to them that might hurt, that might offend or bother them, that may include raising our voices to them, it might include walking out of the room and not giving in.  That is all about being a parent and raising good, compassionate, trustworthy, righteous children.  No parent can raise a child without discipline, without being a parent, without ruffling a few feathers now and again.  Without pissing our dearly loved children off once in a while.  And then walking away to let our children think about it, and hopefully coming to the right decision using the tools that we provided them with during their upbringing.

That is the potential quandary that every parent faces.   The two parents I mentioned above know that what they did was right.  They have come to peace with themselves and what happened between them and their sons.  They know that they were being parents – good parents.  They know what they did was right for their child.  They know that their boys are not resentful or upset where they are now.  They know that their boys are at peace with themselves and with their parents.  But it still hurts. It hurts like hell.  Knowing that the last conversation was not one of love and happiness, but one of being a parent.

Every time your child walks away from you, every time he or she leaved the house, every time you say goodbye, every time you hang up that phone, look at them and think about it.  Are you being their friend?  are you being their mother or father? Are you being a disciplinarian? Are they leaving you upset and is their cause for that upset?  Or did you just have a bad day at work and taking it out on them?  And a minute later, maybe an hour, maybe a day, can it be repaired?

Is there an answer?  Absolutely not.  It is good that almost none of you will pre-decease you children.  That people will pass in the correct order.  But as I write this, I come across another thought.  What do you want your children’s last thoughts of their parents to be? What do you want the last conversation that you have with your children to be about? How do you want it to end?  So when you walk away, walk into that bright light, what will they remember?

Prologue – I know that when I was sixteen my father drove me to school in the dead of winter.  We talked about the lawn and about the garden coming back in spring.  We smiled and laughed.  He pulled up to the school, drove to the last door, i leaned over, kissed him goodbye, and got out of the car.  I was happy, but my father never saw the spring.  But I was happy.  I am at peace.

One thing I am having a hard time is the question of is Andrew at peace.

I speak to people all the time about Andrew and generally everyone says Andrew is in a better place.  They say he is in heaven, and that he is at peace.  He is with G-d, he is with my father whom he never met before, and he is with poppy whom he loved and cared for dearly.  He is with all those who passed before him that he never had the chance to meet, as well as those he did know during the short period of time that was his life.  They say that in heaven, you are happy, you are at total peace, everything is peaceful, you have no worries, it is paradise.

People general also say that he is with us, all of us – Dorothy, Nicole, me.  He is with Grandma, Bubby, Greg and Todd, Wally and Matt , Jovi and Jay. He is here, he is watching over us, he is taking care of us.  He gives us signs and protects us, all while being at peace in heaven.

But I have a question.  One that has haunted me for months.  One that i am just stuck on.

Andrew can see the pain and grief that we are all going through.  He can see Dorothy crying herself to sleep, or waking up in the middle of the night crying.  He can see me crying in my office every single day, finding it hard to concentrate and focus.  He can see how we are struggling to make it through day by day without him.  He can feel how his closest friends miss him and pain for him.  He sees Grandma crying for him in church every day.  He sees all of this pain that his passing has caused on this earth.  How can he be happy and at peace with all this pain here on earth, wherever his soul is now.

I know he did not cause his own passing, he took what he was told to take by his doctors. I know it was a medical issue that no one could have foreseen and no one could have prevented. It was not his fault, it was not the doctors fault, it was not anyone’s fault, he just died.  He went to sleep, and very peacefully his life ended.  It just ended.  I don’t blame him for his passing, no one does – I love him too much for that.  No one blames anyone, it just happened.

But how can he really be at peace?  He must be in pain, crying himself, just to see all of us in so much pain. He is such a sensitive being, such a sensitive soul, how can he just not be effected by the pain here on earth and be at peace as everyone says he is.  I love him so much, and I want him to be at peace, I want his time in heaven to be peaceful and I want all those good things I hear about heaven to be so for my son.

How can we do this, how can we make this happen?  I don’t know. Maybe no one knows. You see movies like Ghost, and realize maybe it is letting him go to bring him peace.  I read poems like the one’s below and think about letting go, if I can.  Maybe we have to learn from his passing, maybe we have look at what he had and be thankful.  But what is letting go?  I can’t just let go of my son.  I can’t let go of his hand, I can’t let go of holding onto him in my thoughts.  I will never let him go – but do I need to?  Do I need to figure out how to let him go and start to live my life again?  Would that disrespectful to his memory?  I know he would want me to, he would want me to go on and live my life and still love and respect his memory.

We will never forget him, we can’t.  We will never stop looking at his pictures or telling stories about him.  His face, his voice, the way he smells after a shower, his love will never ever be forgotten.  Not by just us, but hopefully many will always remember him.  But maybe I can learn to let go of his hand. Maybe I can learn to let go of his collar and let him move to a place he needs to be in to be at peace.   And maybe that will let me move to a place I can be at peace as well.  I just don’t know.

I have to think more, open myself up more, and eventually write more about this when I figure it out.  This is just the beginning.

These are all poems/images from facebook that I have read and make me think.

Part I
When Andrew was about eleven or twelve and Nicole about nine, Lonya came by the house the week before Purim and gave them each a small basket of Purim treats, a Purim Basket.  I had known Lonya for years from playing hockey, and she had met and talked to my kids several times at the various rinks we played in.  The bags contained some hamentashen cookies, candy, and small gifts, part of a Jewish tradition known as mishloach manot.  Basically it is a mitzvah, making sure people have enough food for the Jewish holiday of Purim, but also a mitzvah to give charity, especially to children.  Although Nicole was eager to accept the gift unconditionally, and loved the cookies and gifts, the gift puzzled Andrew.  He had only met Lonya a few times, he was not close friends with her, he did not celebrate Purim other than in Hebrew school, and had never received a gift before that was not associated with his something he related to – his birthday, Chanukah or Christmas.  He did of course eat everything an play with the toys, but he thought about it a lot.

He stored it in the back of his mind for years.  Every once in a while he would ask me about it and ask how Lonya was doing.  Over the years, he bought small items with the intention of donating them to someone who could not afford them. He routinely donated his unused toys and clothes to the needy, even asking Nicole for her unused toys to donate.  This became something that he did throughout his life.  Even in Boulder, instead of throwing stuff away, he would bring it to a donation site and leave it there in hopes that someone would find it and use it.

I thank Lonya for teaching Andrew this valuable life lesson that changed his way of thinking.  You touched and effected my son’s life in a vey positive manner, for that I am forever thankful.

Part II
A year or so later while, and I am sorry to have to make this into a hockey story, Andrew was talking to me in the car ride home from a game.  He mentioned that one of the players on his team, Robert (not his real name), was tying a pair of hockey sox around his shoulders to give the appearance under his jersey that he was wearing shoulder pads.  He didn’t know why, neither did I.  All I knew was that Robert came from a family that did not have the means to buy a lot of nice things, that he received a scholarship to play hockey with the organization, and that when we traveled he stayed in another players room to save money.  I figured it was for financial reasons that he used the sox – he could not afford a new set of shoulder pads.  Thinking about it, Robert also had ratty old gloves, and skates that were too small for him.

In a day or two I talked to my young son again and told him why Robert had the sox, and that he should not mention it in the locker room as to not embarrass him – it probably already bothered him that the other players knew, but let’s not bring it up.  Andrew’s immediate response to me was that he could give his pads to Robert and we could go out and buy some new ones.  Andrew always loved new equipment.  Although a good idea, I told him that his would not fit Robert – Andrew was about 140 pounds, Robert about 180.  He didn’t let it go and pushed me more. He asked if any of the Manhattanville  players that we were friends with had old pads that they didn’t want – they get new equipment in college.  I wasn’t sure but I would ask.  It took a little while, but eventually Andrew’s coach, Coach Rich, did get used, and some new, equipment from Manhattanville, and Robert got nice new equipment, including skates, to replace the only equipment he could afford.

Andrew learned a lesson from this, and learned compassion for others through Robert.  I also have to thank Coach Rich for stepping in, seeing a need, and using his contacts and friendships to help out tremendously.  It might have seemed a small thing back then, but it shaped how Andrew thought from then on.

Part III
Andrew’s neurologist, Dr. Roseman, ran in a coat drive for disadvantaged youth in and around Westchester for several years.  Andrew cleaned out his closet and found a few coats to donate, he felt pretty good about that.  But when we were at a rink that weekend and he saw a dozen or so unclaimed coats in the lost and found, he asked me about them. If you have ever been in a rink, there is always a box somewhere called the lost and found, and it is always over flowing with jackets, hats, gloves, skates, etc.  Most things in the box are never claimed, and eventually thrown away. We talked to the rink manager who showed us the back room where he had about twenty unclaimed kids coats that were going to be thrown away soon.  The smile on Andrew’s face when he asked if we could have them to donate and was told yes was priceless.  He got a couple of bags and packed them all into the bags and filled the back of my truck.  This turned into Andrew’s Bar Mitzvah project.

This repeated itself at almost every rink we went to from November through January.  All in all, Andrew collected over a hundred and fifty children’s coats, bagged them and stored them in our garage.  Finally in January we brought them over to Dr. Roseman to give out to the needy.  I was happy to have my garage back, and Andrew was so thrilled when he got a hug and a huge thank you from the doctor.

Thank you Dr. Roseman for giving Andrew a project that he turned into a mission.

Finally
This was Andrew.  He was compassionate and constantly thought about other.  He did not have a lot of material possession, he did not keep stuff he had no use for, and did not really collect anything.  He used what he needed and gave the rest away. (other than computer stuff and gaming systems and games, which he had way too much of).

Last summer he asked me for a computer for a friend of his, I didn’t even recognize the name. He said his friends mother did not have a job and she was going to the library to use their computer to find a job, and that they could not afford a computer.  I had a spare unused computer in the house he asked for.  Andrew cleaned out that computer, reformatted it, reinstalled Windows and all the drivers, and Microsoft Office, and set up that computer in their house.  He also punched a whole through the wall so they could connected it to their neighboring apartments internet (with their permission of course).  He was very happy to help them out, but only told me, never made it public or told his other friends.  He never wanted the attention, he just wanted to help out.

I shared these stories for a few reasons. One is that it shows a lot about Andrew. What shaped his thinking, and how he reacted to what he heard and saw in life.   Second is to thank those who shaped his life in a positive manner, without knowing it or asking for it, but they had a very positive influence on Andrew.  And third, so when we start Andrew’s foundation this spring, you will know why we are doing what we are doing in his name, in his memory, and in his honor.

If you experienced Andrew’s generosity, his thoughtfulness, his compassion, his charity, everyone would greatly like to hear about it. Please post a comment, even anonymously, but share with others so everyone can see what Andrew was all about.

Thank you

While cleaning up Andrew’s room a while ago (that is a post all by itself one day), I came across a few file folders on his shelf.  There were no papers or anything in them so I was about to through them out when I looked inside one of them and what I found amazed me.  I found Andrew’s Bucket List.  I sat down on the edge of his bed and read what I had found over and over again.  It truly is an entry into my son’s personality, into his mind, into his amazing sense of humor, and into his true compassion as a human being.

I showed it to his friend Wally who said he remembered seeing it a few years ago and thinks Andrew wrote it while a junior in high school.  Not a project or an assignment – just something that he wanted to have.

Below is what he had on his list, the list of what he wanted to accomplish in his life before he left this world.  Most people make this list later on in life, when it is usually too late to fulfill the list.  With Andrew everything had to be done early, so he did it at eighteen or nineteen.  While he was only able to accomplish a few of his dreams, what he listed is truly insightful.  Read it slow, and think about each one, you will come away from this list a changed person, I promise.

Bucket List
Get out of Harrison alive
Visit Amsterdam / Europe / Australia
Own a pet monkey
See someone hit by a car and have his shoes come off
Skydive
Own a pool full of Jello or pudding
Live in Colorado at some point of my life
Save 1 life
Live on an island (but not the island from Lost, it confuses me too much)
Count cards in Vegas
Meet a Ninja
Become a Ninja
Learn to surf
Read a book all the way through
Write/Publish a book
Have a water fountain in my house this is filled with fruit punch
Lucid Dream
Don’t get kicked out of college (for not going to class)
Citizens arrest a cop
Parachute from a plane onto a mountain and snowboard down
Blow up something with my mind
Take a vow of silence
Cure cancer
Never fail a class
Go back in time and stop the following from happening”
Movies: The Happening
The caveman in the Geico commercial gets his own show
Ms. Fitzsimons from being allowed to coach.

There are so many things I can write about on this list, I can go into each one and it would take weeks of journals, and eventually I might.  But there are a few I want to highlight that really touched me.

The first one, and it was probably the most important item to him, and the deepest, is “Save 1 life”.  In his passing, I think he did accomplish this one item.  Actually I think he may have saved several lives in his passing.  His friends told me that they can not believe he is gone. Of all the kids they knew, all those who lived on the edge, all those who experimented with drugs, drove recklessly, played with knives, pushed the limits as hard as they could, Andrew was none of these.  He was the safe one, he was the cautious one.  Yes, he drove fast, and smoked a little weed years ago, but he was the funny one, he was the smart one, he was the last one who death would come after. And yet he is gone the first.  This scared a lot of his friends, and maybe, just maybe saved a life or two – I would like to think so.

Cure cancer.  What 17 year old thinks of that?   But his compassion for others, and his want to help others made him put that on his list.  I am not sure he really thought he could do this, but he did dream.

He did Get out of Harrison alive, and he did Live in Colorado. He was so thrilled to be out there, he loved the mountains, he loved to snowboard, and he was away from the politics and the crap that runs this town.  He took a lot of pictures of Colorado, they are on his I-Phone and on his laptops, so if and when he came back here, he could always look at them and remember how beautiful and how much he loved living there.

But he also took some very nice pictures around the house here in Harrison, and the people here, so that if he did not get back he would have them to look at.  I will post those pictures some time soon, they are really nice.

Own a pet monkey? Become a Ninja? Citizens arrest a cop? Blow up something with my mind?  He was a funny little boy and it does show.  I am sure he would have owned the monkey and arrested the cop if the situation presented itself.

He never Failed a class, and he never Got kicked out of college.  He graduated college and that would have made him happy, although not on his list.

There are some things I never knew he wanted to do.  Skydive.  Parachute from an airplane and snowboard down a mountain.  Lucid dream.  Visit Amsterdam / Europe / Australia.  If only I had known these things I would have done what I could to make them happen.  We had time when he was home and if I had only known, I would have done whatever it took to make him happy.

To those of you out there who have dreams and have a list in their head, share them with your parents, don’t hide them.  Maybe they will become reality, but only if others know.  Only if  I knew.

The one entry that hurts me inside is Learn to surf.  He did tell me about this desire to learn to surf recently and we did act on it.  Andrew and I were planning to go to Mexico this past summer to learn surfing, but his broken right hand got in the way and we could not make the trip.  Before I left Boulder the last time I saw him, we talked about going to Mexico during his winter break and he was excited and happy to do that. It would have been our time together for a week or so, just dad and Andrew living on the beach, learning to surf, taking some pictures, and doing what dads and their sons do.  I will forever miss that opportunity.

Dorothy and I went out the other day.  It was the first time we actually went to “something” other than go out to dinner with a few friends.  And it was nice.  We had a good time, all things considered.

We were invited to a wine auction luncheon for the Rockland Center for the Arts by one of my closest friend’s mother, someone who I have been calling mom for over forty years.  It took us a couple of weeks of introspective thought to accept Molly’s invitation, but she was very happy we did.  We had to really think about it.  Was it too soon?  Would be feel guilty going out and having a good time?  There would be no one there other than Molly, my friend and his fiancé, and another couple who she invited, who knew us and who could come over and say they were sorry.  We would have our own car so if we needed to we could leave at any time.  We know the restaurant and the owner, so we felt like it would be a safe place for us.  It actually is one of Andrew’s favorite eateries – X2O in Yonkers.  When we told Molly we would go, she was very happy, and we felt a certain sense of relief, as well as others feeling we really can not explain.

Does this mean we are “better”? Are we finally “over it”?  Absolutely not.  Not on your life.  This means that we realize that we still have to live and continue on with our lives, which we always knew, but could not accept.  This means that we can get out of the house and be with others, that we could have a nice time with others, and yet still think and talk about Andrew.   Which we did at lunch.  We told stories about him, we remembered him, and we know we all love and miss him so very much.  We talked about when we grew up, we talked about our dads, we talked about their upcoming wedding.  We talked a lot.  What was important is that we were able to go out, be with friends, enjoy ourselves, and still grieve for our son.   And be with others who understood this.  This is a big step.  We are forever grateful for the invitation, Molly,

Will we be over it soon, or ever?  No.  We will never be over it, we can’t be.  But we can live our lives, our new lives, to some degree.  We are always one question, or one story, or seeing one person, away from being in tears.  As I have said before, we are different people now, we are not the same people we were five months ago.  There are people who want us to be who we were, they want the old Perry and Dorothy and Nicole back.  That won’t happen.  But our friends and relatives are ready to accept who we are now.  And that is so much appreciated.  If you’re waiting for us to be our old selves, or waiting for us to be over our loss and our grief, we are sorry to say that that will never be.  Actually we are not sorry.  We want to, and need to, be new people.  People who remember our son, who can talk about him and be accepted as we are now.  It might be a hard concept for some people to accept, but we ask that you do.

We are still not ready to go out to a party.  We are still not ready to laugh and be part of a large gathering, but we are getting there.  Bear with us.

By the way, we did bid on and win a very special bottle of wine at the auction.  Now we cherish this bottle and await the perfect time to open it and share it with friends.