People say losing your child is the worst hurt there is.
Others say losing your spouse. Others, a parent. I say we need to stop
comparing because I am discovering the hurt is unbearable in every situation so
what is the point in comparing. Hurt is hurt, and the hurt is to your core. My
toes hurt. My hair hurts. My nose hurt. Literally, my eye lashes hurt. I hurt
because I loved. I had the unique luxury of getting to love him in a way only
one other person on the planet got to love him, my sister, as we got to love
him as a brother. Two had the special pleasure to love him as son. One had the incredible
bond of loving him as husband. Two more will cherish him forever as Father. Some
of your will forever be blessed in the love that came through friendship. Each
way brings something unique and special to the one who gets to love. I, myself,
loved him not only because he was my only brother, I loved Andy because he was
so very easy to love.
If you knew him, you knew that too. Andy would walk into a
room and the atmosphere would morph at the exact speed of his walk. It was as
if he knew exactly what the room needed and carried a secret stash of it in his
pocket. And with that you immediately became endeared to his demeanor. His
simply knew how to carry the room and you along with it, almost without you
knowing you were along for the glorious ride. He would walk in and the first
thing you would notice was the grin. It was totally endearing and I can’t get
it out of my mind. It engulfed my thoughts last night as I laid in bed. It’s
impossible to miss because while it was subtle, it also somehow matched his
gait. So when he walked into a room, you got the whole package, the grin and
the gait, and you wanted to envelope yourself in his goodness. He was giving.
He wanted to be involved in the lives of others, particularly his children
where he devoted countless hours to their lives, be it in church, in school, or
after school activities. He was Christ-centered and focused his family around
everything God wanted it to be. Family was his core and where he grounded his
life and after that, friendship is where he focused his time. His house was an
open door of people coming and going. It matched his personality, an extrovert
who breathed life into others and found fulfillment from being with you. And
time spent with Andy was time spent doubled over in laughter. He was the
funniest person I knew. Our family is a collection of stories of Andy’s pranks and
funny moments in life and they are stories that deserve to be celebrated. Witty,
charming, calm, brilliant, devoted. He simply knew how to do life well and
therefore you couldn’t help but find yourself wanting to do life with Andy. I
have so many memories of running behind Andy, simply trying to keep up. Not so
much in the pace of life, he was always more laid back than I, but rather the
younger sister that wanted to stay in his reach. I always wanted to have a
finger in his bucket of life. He always had something I wanted to be a part of
for if he was a part of it, he simply drew you in. He was a natural leader, so
as he led, you wanted to follow. He was a natural giver, so as he gave, you
found yourself wanting to give. He collected friends like they were blue light
specials, so I wanted to be his friend. He knew how to take an idea and turn it
into genius. Unfortunately, his brilliance wasn’t infectious. But his zest for
life would pull you in like a tidal wave and you simply wanted to hold on for
dear life with hopes of being carried along for the hundred miles. Doing life
with Andy was worth doing and it was something you craved without even being
aware you were craving it. He simply was infectious. And loving. And endearing.
And….everything good in life.
And now, we are left doing life without Andy. I’m not quite
sure how to do life without Andy. I found myself yesterday having to sit in a
room without Andy walking into it. It was a room that needed to morph and Andy
wasn’t there with his pocket. He leaves a tangible void. It’s a void we all
feel, those of us that knew him for if we knew him we loved him, as brother, as
son, as father, as husband, as friend. It’s
as though we all got to see Andy in a way others didn’t get to see him. We each
hold a piece of his story, a building block that when put together build up his
whole. Andy made each of who we are, but each of us also made Andy who he was. If
you knew Andy, you have a story. He most certainly left you with a story. I’m
hoping that story will find a way to seep into the space that sits in this
room. I keep looking up to see Andy walk in around the corner. But he’s not
walking in. But his story will. Tell me his story. I’m collecting his stories. For
his stories are what will keep him here. My words here are short, because there simply
are no words, but it needed to be said that I loved Andy because he was so very
easy to love.
Romans 12:9-13 New
American Standard –
9 Let
love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil; cling to what is good. 10 Be
devoted to one another in brotherly love; [a]give
preference to one another in honor; 11 not lagging behind in
diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord; 12 rejoicing in
hope, persevering in tribulation, devoted to prayer, 13 contributing
to the needs of the [b]saints, [c]practicing
hospitality.
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