I think that today is Friday because the garbage cans are outside at the bottom of people’s drive. That’s how I guess the day, the garbage collection is also on Tuesdays, but I know that it is not Tuesday, not if it is still this week. For on Tuesday of this week my son killed himself. So today it is the 4th day after, and the only thing we are moving closer to, is his funeral.
But I wonder… Yes I wonder you see…
“mummy I just found out that someone is organizing a vigil at the library this evening at 8 o’clock,” my beautiful heartbroken daughter told me.
“I’m going,” I said immediately.
I had wanted to go and see this place, try what I could to catch anything of Andrew that might have been left behind. A thought, a prayer, a stray hair, a tear on the floor or moment of fear. If thoughts are the beginning of new creations, perhaps I could catch them if they were still floating, swirling in Bobst heights.
I think that NYU should have a trapeze net perhaps.
As it turned out, the impromptu memorial was moved to the Washington square instead.
I was so looking forward to it. Yes, yes, we are going.. I kept singing inside.
We had met in the square outside the law school at the beginning of September after a reception with John Sexton I’d gone to, with a friend and fellow NYU parent. Afterwards Andrew and her son met us in the square. Andrew got there first, he bounded up to me, we hugged and looked around for his friend.
Writing this I feel the fullness of his life, the clean-just-washed smell of his hair, the warmth of his arms as we hugged, him patting me playfully on the end. He was 6ft tall and 5 and change, but I always maintained that I was still taller than him.
All that I remembered, as I eagerly made my way with my family and friends to Washington square gardens last night. I was impatient to get out of the car when we got there.
“Look, they are already there,” my daughter said, pointing to the group in the square. I dashed ahead with flowers in my arms, the rest of us were carrying food to give out. Young people were waiting in line to give their flowers, being Italian I went ahead and cut the line. I am not sure what I was expecting. Obviously I am not delusional, but the I-want-a-miracle-mother within thought that maybe Andrew would be there.
But there were candles and lovely flowers on was a… wire fence.
Confused and lost, I held the flowers and scanned the crowd for a moment, I looked around the square, but my tigger was nowhere to be seen. I gave the flowers to my children and made my way to the library…
The following is a comment I found on the Internet about Andrew.
I don’t know your name or who you are, but I want to thank you for having known my son and for taking the trouble of speaking up for him, I truly appreciate it.
Thank you and God bless.
12:37:03 AM Nov 4, 2009
So many of these comments astound me. If any of you had personally known this young man, as I did, you would know that those he met felt lucky to have this intelligent, cultured, responsible and sophisticated (as well as sensitive and entertaining) person in their life. While I agree that your points do have validity for many kids our age, you are judging something you know nothing about. It’s insulting to his memory, and to those who knew him for the incredible person he was.