Yesterday, February 3rd, marked the third month since Andrew died.
Unreal though it seems, day after day, three months have passed. Thanksgiving came and went, Christmas came and went. The year 2009 gave way to a new year at the stroke of midnight, on the last day of December.
The more time passes, the harder it is to imagine that Andrew is away at college.
Like earthquake survivors that in the first few days after a quake have high hopes of finding their loved ones alive. Then, as time wears on, when no hope is left of finding any more survivors, still they cling to hope.
After all, hasn’t everyone heard stories of the child, the man or the woman who was found after eleven days, twelve days… why not their loved one? Why not my Andrew?
Why couldn’t this be a bad dream? That’s what it seems like anyway. From the moment we were woken up with the news that Andrew had been found dead in the Library at NYU, we entered a nightmare.
The phone calls, the screams… ANDREW IS DEAD, ANDREW IS DEAD, the rush to St. Vincent’s hospital.
My Andrew, as handsome as ever, lying on a bed sleeping; but dead.
His hair , spread around his head, soft and lustrous,smelling of his favorite shampoo.
But my cries, my wailing, my howling, my talking, my kisses; NOTHING stirred him from his slumber.
But he is alive in my heart. That is where I must learn to look for him.
But, Andrew… it’s not easy. We all miss you SO MUCH.