"The Saddest Day of My Life"
or
"Love is Everywhere"
After the wake my sister Audra stayed over with me. She was a great comfort as she had been just a few weeks ago. She took care of me when I was ill and saw Andy when he was at his sickest, and just before he went into the ICU.
Audra needed a big brother in her life and Andy was there for her. His passing hit her very hard. My heart was so touched when she told me how much he meant to her even though they live far away and didn't spend too much time together. Her presence in the house was a big help to me. She got us pizza and we watched The IT Crowd, which Andy and I loved doing.
The next morning the body went on autopilot but still with much anxiety. Take shower. Brush hair. Get dressed. Drink coffee. We left but I realized I forgot my house keys inside. Again, making a silly mistake in The Daze. Luckily Adam had the foresight to hide a copy for me. (Eagle Scouts always come through, don't they?)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
We arrived at the funeral home and they were playing my playlist. The song I walked in to was one that meant a whole lot to us: "Love Is Everywhere" by Wilco.
A wash of warmth hit, maybe Andy's spirit was coming through from some unknown place.
We spoke more private words to him and prepared to leave for the service.
We had another family prayer with Andy and the Deacon before the pallbearers brought him outside to the hearse. Our car was lined up behind the open back doors and I sat in the passenger seat of Andy's favorite car. Our three sons, my father, my uncle and the staff placed him inside.
My father, who gave me away to Andy almost 16 years ago next month, gives Andy away to God now. He loved him like a son, truly.
He came up to me with emotion in his eyes and asked,
"The T as Andy's middle initial, what does that stand for?"
"Thomas." I said.
"Oh. That was my confirmation name." He responded, a catch in his throat, squeezing my shoulder.
Joe drove me behind his father from the home to the church. Sun radiated down on us and we reminisced, laughed and cried together. "We decided Charlie's middle name is going to be Andrew. We told him in the hospital. He cried. I don't think I've seen him cry before..."
"You're going to be a great dad." I said.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
And so began the saddest day of our lives.
We lined up outside the closed doors of the church, waiting for the priests to begin. Somebody spoke to me with instructions but I don't remember who they were or what they said. That would happen many times.
The doors opened, and we processed down the aisle, the pews filled with what I think were people turning to look at us. However, I don't remember much, everything was out of focus. It's really like the opposite of a wedding, isn't it... We sat down in the front pew.
Music began and slowly Andy came up on our left to the hymn "Here I Am Lord". Oh Jesus, this is actually happening now. There's no escaping this. I stared at the cherry wood grain and then down to his face on the leaflet. I remember the summer that photo was taken... What a fun road trip that was...
The priest started sprinkling holy water on his casket and it was time to place the pall over him with his mother. My heartbeat felt like engine pistons thundering rapidly and my hands shook. We covered him and sat down.
Thank God for Adam's stellar eulogy. We knew he'd make it great. Not even a close second. If you care to see it (*which I highly suggest) it starts at 12:34.
I was also grateful my father and sister joined Kevin and Bill on "Be Not Afraid". They have both been so devastated by his loss. Hearing the emotion and love in their voices as she looked upon her brother, as my dad looked upon his adopted son, made me feel even closer to them. A new dimension was born in our relationship. (That begins at 57:30)
I stared again at his face on the leaflet. Hi, sweetheart... and then suddenly I saw his face from 2 weeks ago, struggling to breathe in a CPAP, desperate to take it off. I broke down again and felt hands on my shoulders. Bill began to sing "Morning Has Broken", the song (and singer) that brought Andy to this church exactly 10 years ago. A gift to his friend.
And then suddenly, it was over.
Andy was being taken away, outside again, taken away forever. The recessional hymn began. Engulfed in tunnel vision, I stared at the back of his casket leaving the church slowly and reached for him. Oh no... Please don't let it be over. The anguish was all-consuming, I cried uncontrollably, and felt my knees give way but Kate caught me.
I watched him lifted into the hearse again. People came out to comfort us. Adam drove me behind him from the church to the burial ground. He told me about the previous drafts of his eulogy. We talked about fatherhood, relationships, and marriage. We said we loved each other and felt the sunshine warm our faces.
"We knew you could do it, your dad and I."
We had a private burial with our families at the cemetery where Andy used to take his drawing classes and he and I would walk every autumn. As Deacon Jay gave the Final words of Commendation and Signs of Farewell, the sun again came out from behind a cloud and warmed Andy under his garden of blossoms.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
When I arrived at the reception, I walked in - again - to "Love is Everywhere" by Wilco. Such serendipity.
A wash of warmth hit again, and we were bolstered by the love and support of many wonderful people.
That night, Audra stayed with me again and helped me through an intense depression. Pulled by some unknown force we jumped in the car with Juno and we drove to the cemetery again. I had to see Andy. Again, I turned on "Love is Everywhere" turned the volume up and drove too fast. The clouds were tinged pink in the twilight.
We pulled up. The grave was filled in and grass seed laid over. The casket spray I gave him and the flowers we laid on at the end were gone, with him now as he asked for every spring. Two flower pieces remained as markers, one created by his former student Ari, and one made by me, Sally and Renee.
I broke down again, hysterical. "I miss you, I miss you, I wish you would come home... please talk to me someday, sweetheart... I hope you'll talk to me... "
Audra left me to talk to him and she walked Juno. Passersby came over the hill and turned sharply to avoid the scene. Then we sat together, hugging and quiet.
Finally, it was time to go as the cemetery closed at sundown. Again, we put on the same song, and called to him from the car windows, happy tears running down our cheeks as we drove off.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"I love you, Andy! I've always loved you! I'll love you for a thousand years!"
"I love you, sweet brother!"
"See you again soon!"
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Many thanks to some of Andy's friends (who I have never met in person) but enjoyed many wonderful phone calls with them in the wake of his passing. I loved getting to hear their voices and share in their memories. If they were important to him, then they are important to me.
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