I realize this post has nothing to do with design, but I promise I will put up pictures of my process to make this all mildly relevant. But, even if you are only here to read about and see designs, I ask that you take the time to read this post because Andrew was and still is a very special person to me. Andrew loved Scooby Doo and Shaggy; he used their names in his AIM screen names. So as a birthday present to him, I created this drawing.
Today would be Andrew's 24th birthday. He was a very good friend of mine (we dated for a while) who helped me through many teen angst ridden years. Our relationship was primarily composed of phone calls and instant message sessions that lasted for hours. Though many people saw him for his faults, I saw the great guy who would shovel his neighbors driveways in the winter (for free) and who would always tell me he loved me.
We met at Holt Heritage Camp. It's a camp for adoptees, a place where, for perhaps the first time we could remember, we were surrounded by Asians. The camp only lasted five days. Five days out of 365 is not really a significant amount of time, but friends chatted online in an attempt to remain close. Most campers were from New Jersey, and though New Jersey is a very small state, for young teens without drivers licenses, a three hour drive might as well have been a three day journey.
Andrew and I were very close, even after we broke up. Although we rarely saw each other, I shared everything with him. He knew the worst, darkest parts of me but he still loved all of me. I think part of me liked him because he was "that boy" mothers told you not to date. But I know I loved him because accepted every part of me. We loved each other as much as two teenagers could.
We only met up once outside of camp. His mother drove him the roughly three hours to my house and my mom took us to one of the malls close by. We shopped and ate. We walked around the mall and talked. We saw the second Pirates of the Caribbean movie. And yes, we kissed. I truly think I have one of the worst memories, ever, but I distinctly remember one moment of that day. I was looking at yarn (because I knit) and Andrew was standing behind me. He had his arms around me and his head resting on mine and he said I was the perfect height for him. That's basically the only memory I have of that day. I was sixteen.
Gradually, Andrew and I stopped talking. He would feel guilty because I was dating someone else and every time we talked he'd say he loved me. He'd tell me I was the best thing in his life, the only good thing. He would say he wanted to stop talking to me out of respect for whomever I was dating at the time but that I could always still call him if I wanted to talk. I called, but my calls became increasingly infrequent.
The last time I spoke with Andrew I was out at a restaurant. I had just started college and a bunch of people were out to dinner. It was four years ago today. I called him to wish him a happy birthday and to ask how he was. He told me he liked this other girl but she was dating someone else. When he said that, probably the first emotion I felt was sadness because he didn't tell me he loved me. Then I felt sadness because although he had found someone else, he couldn't date her, so he still wasn't happy. I don't remember what I managed to say in response but I do remember our talk was very brief.
A few months later I was starting my second semester of college. I checked my facebook one evening and I saw a friend request from someone who's name I didn't recognize but they were from the same county as Andrew. I normally don't accept friend requests from people unless I actually am friends with them, but, I decided to accept his. I wrote on his wall asking if he was friends with Andrew and if so how was he doing. The next morning, before I went to class, I logged on to my facebook. There was a new post on my wall and it told me that Andrew was dead. That was it. There was no explanation, nothing to tell me if this was the very terrible joke I hoped it was. I deleted the post. I walked to class repeating to myself that this was just a sick joke, that this person I loved was still alive. I called a friend who also went to Holt Camp and told him about what I had just read on my facebook. He confessed that it was true and he was supposed to tell me, but that he had not been able to figure out how/when to do it. I then called my mom, told her, asked her to find some proof...to find out what had happened, and then I went to class.
I don't know how I did that. I don't know how I went to class that day or why I didn't just go back to my dorm room and curl up (though I did this later). I think I just wanted it all to be a really elaborate sick joke and I wanted Andrew to be alive. After class I called my mom and she told me to check my email. She had sent me Andrew's obituary. From the obituary and what my friend, Matt, told me, I pieced together that Andrew had committed suicide on Christmas Eve by hanging himself.
While I was curled up in my bed, crying, and not really ready to talk to anyone, I decided I would write his mother a letter. I wanted to let her know how much Andrew meant to me and how much he helped me through. I wanted to make sure she knew that the only reason I wasn't at his wake or funeral was because I had not known. I told her I wasn't sure if she blamed herself for not seeing the signs or not doing anything about them, but that if she did, I wanted her to know I did too. I wrote that I knew no one should blame themselves, but that right now, that was how I felt, guilty.
I had known Andrew was suicidal. He told me he tried to hang himself before but had "failed". I talked to my high school Intro to Psychology teacher about him and she told me there wasn't much I could do. I could call his mother or, when I felt he was at risk of attempting suicide, I could call the police. To me, a seventeen year old girl who only met his mother once and lived three hours away, both options seemed unrealistic. But I think I really didn't do anything because I didn't want to make it all that real. Telling his mother or the police would make it all something more than confessions between two angsty teenagers.
It's been almost four years since Andrew died and I still struggle with the guilt. I struggle to remember him and the smiles he brought to my life. I struggle to continue to feel him with me, but I know he always will be. I also struggle to let him go. I think about him nearly every day. So many things remind me of him but at least now those things generally make me happy. I believe in heaven and even though Andrew, like everyone, had his imperfections, I believe he is there and that he is continuing to love me.
Forever and Always.
