Remembering Andy

This January 16th will mark the 10th Anniversary of my son, Andy's, death.  When people are made aware that a decade has past without his amazing smile, they either respond, "Has it been that long?" or "It seems as if it were yesterday."

I could respond both ways, I guess.  It seems like a lifetime ago when he last hugged me and said,
"Guess what, Mom, I love you!" and yet the pain is as fresh as if it happened a moment ago.  The problem was initially holding on to that last hug, those last words and let them comfort me as the grief consumed me.

They say time heals all wounds.  Perhaps for some it does.  But some wounds require more care than any amount of time or any top-notch doctors could provide.  I did find that healing in the most unexplainable moment of my life.  I will explain, but first, the events leading up to that moment.

Andy had died on a Friday.  My husband, Jim, and I were working.  I received a call from him stating that SouthWest Hospital ER called to report that Andy was brought in by ambulance.  Nothing else.  Jim arrived first and became concerned when the staff would give him no information until I arrived.  Jim, in his very assertive manner, demanded to be told immediately what happened to Andy.  Was Jim thinking of Andy first?  He took one look at the "Private Family Room" with its cold vinyl couch and veneered table with a lone telephone.  (You, know, the phone that would be used to notify his sister and brother.)  He knew Andy had died before the staff confirmed it.  His first action was to protect me. He would not have me sit in that room.  He would not have anyone else tell me that Andy was gone.

He stood out in the middle of the ER parking lot that cold January day and looked for my arrival.  He motioned that I park immediately in a handicap space outside of the entrance.  I shook my head no but his emotions began to whittle away at all of the safe senarios I had envisioned on my drive there. He was with friends the night before.  Did he get into an accident?  Could drugs be involved?  Even as I pulled into the space I was accepting the fact that he could be in surgery and that Jim was just wanting to prevent my wasting any more time.

He didn't need to say anything.  I looked into his eyes.  I had never seen that pain.  And then I knew.  Jim just had to be there to catch me should I fall.  I asked, "Is he dead?"  He could only shake his head yes.

Three important lessons learned from that ER experience is :
1) The love and respect my husband demonstrated to me that I not to be told by anyone else about Andy was a sacrificial and deep love.
2) When the police finally allow you to view your son but to warn you to keep your hands off "the body" as it is a crime scene, (investigating the unknown death of a young, beautiful person) kick them both in the balls, ask them to respect that I am this beautiful boys Mother and to haul me off to jail in handcuffs afterwards.
3) Despite ER's feeling that they are prepared for handling the announcement and grief by assigning a social worker to the family and give the details when all are assembled in the private room and to not deviate from that protocol allows cold, callous, robotic type gestures that are transparent and deplorable.

The rest of that Friday unfolded just like the ER with shock and horror.  When we entered our home my husband finally broke down and cried , "Where is my Andy?".  The home had reminders of him everywhere you looked.  Should I try to protect Peter and Molly when they walk through the door later?  Peter was flying home from New York where he was a musician, a friend accompanying him.  Molly would head home from Oxford, Ohio.  She had collapsed when we told her.  A friend was driving her home.

All of my family arrived that day.  The last was my niece, Gretchen, who flew in from Duke that night.  I will never forget the sobbing and wails.  It was just as loud that Tuesday night at the funeral home when the cousins gathered around Andy for the last time, knowing they would never see his face again.

Jim, Peter, Molly and I slept together in the family room that Friday. It was so painful to drift into sleep, that non-reality and see Andy and not know.  I would wake on average 3 times per hour and look at my surroundings and be kicked in my heart, my stomach, my very being.  How would I survive the greatest nightmare of every parent - burying their child.

The next day I was up before the others and found the strength to gather some of Andy's prized possessions and place them on a counter as people would enter our home.  I got dressed and began to hear the cries from Jim as he say my little tribute.  I thought initially that I would take it down but he said to leave it up.  "It's beautiful".

The Shaker Hts. community showed up along with relatives and friends.  Jim and I were respected as parents and the horror in the parents' eyes spoke volumes.  If this could happen to Andy Psarras, it could happen to their child.  I so appreciate all of the different ways people showed support, from cousins making 3 larges photo collages of Andy to my sister-in-law, Georgette, deciding to put everyone to work to clean my kitchen - I mean scrub it to a sparkle.

It was that afternoon that some strength came over me.  I looked around at my family and their unconsolable grief.  It was then I was scooped up. I looked back and no longer saw my footprints in the sand.  I put in new contact,s as I could no longer see from the film of tears and makeup on the ones I was wearing, picked up a legal pad, and wrote my son's eulogy.  I decided that I would get this family through the grief.  I would never let them see me buckle. I would help to hold them up should they fall.  I would not give up celebrating holidays at our home because one special person was missing.  I knew he would always be there.

I think God has Faith enough in me now and over the years my toes began to feel the sand.  Now my heels are firmly embedded. I am walking on the beach again.  Andy would like that.  That very experience has strengthened my spirituality.  I cannot explain it any further.

My husband also eulogized our son.  He always pulls it together.  It was powerful.  He, as well as the county, pursued Andy's death as a murder.  Any death resulting in the act of a felony - selling illegal heroin - should be viewed as murder.  That is a cause I am dedicated to to this very day.  One day, I pray, Ohio will enact Andy's Law.

My eulogy was just a tribute to Andy.  He was buried in the Phish T-shirt that was only 2 weeks old. He never wanted me to wash it for fear it would fade.  Over it is a shirt he borrowed from his Dad.  His favorite color was orange.  He wore his favorite corduroys that were held together with a safety pin.  He is only wearing one shoe.  He loved his Birkenstocks and lost one when we were visiting his favorite state, Hawaii.  Our thoughts are that he has one foot in heaven and one in Hawaii.  Andy would have liked that.

I reminded everyone that his smile would light up a room.  I asked everyone present at the Funeral to smile at a stranger that day.  Andy would like that.

Andy was an animal lover and worked as a vet tech.  He brought home so many strays.  He always tried to save animals, even friends.  I asked everyone to be kind to animal.  Andy would like that.

Andy would never end a phone call without saying "Peace".  Now that's a hard request, but look for the beauty and joy in the day and when arguing, attempt to see the other's perspective.  Andy would like that.

The family including Andy had recently viewed the tribute to George Harrison, released 1 year after George's death and 2 months before Andy's death.  Andy loved the Beatles and would play Blackbird for me on his acoustic guitar.  Peter now has that guitar and plays it so gently and with such respect. Blackbird remains my ringtone.

There was also a song by Jo Brown.  He performed it on a ukelele as George, just like Andy, loved Hawaii.  I sang it to Andy at the funeral with my son, Peter, playing the ukelele and Jim and Molly by my side.  It goes like this.

Lonely days are long, Twilight sings a song
Of the happiness that used to be.
Soon my eyes will close, soon I'll find repose
And in dreams you're always near to me.

I'll see you in my dreams
Hold you in my dream
Someone took you out of my arms
Still I feel the thrill of your Charms.

Smile that once was mine
Tender eyes that shine
They will light my way tonight
I'll see you in my dreams.

Smile that once was mine
Tender eyes that shine
They will light my LONELY way tonight
I'll see you in my dreams.

Goodnight my sweet Andy.  I love you dearly and miss you so much.  You will always remain in our hearts.

Love and Peace, Mom