Mummy Loves You Andrew

"Little Andrew On Daddy's Shoulders"

Little Andrew On Daddy's Shoulders

Robert has strep throat and swollen tonsils. He slept most of the day yesterday and so did I.
Last night even after the first dose of antibiotic and motrin, he had a temperature of 103. For the next two hours we applied cold compresses to his head and body, put a fan on him and fed him ice-pops until the fever went down to 100. Then he went back to sleep and so did I.
Administering to Robert, feeling his forehead, taking his temperature, kissing and hugging him, I couldn’t help but think of Andrew. So many times over the years I administered to him. Colds, flues, poison Ivy, stitches, a broken ankle while playing soccer, a broken toe playing polo on the Razor Blade, a nearly severed little finger while arguing with the arm rest in the back of the car, appendicitis, neuro-optical cellulitis; we’d seen our fair share of the emergency room and of Dr. Lubell, the family Pediatrician.

“Andrew said that you like it when the children are sick,” Martha, the mother of one of Andrew’s friend told me, when I’d gone to pick him up after a play-date.
“It’s true,” I laughed.
I love having the children home with me, looking after them, making them soups, sweet camomile tea, reading them stories, chatting, tucking them nice and cozy in my bed.

Like me Andrew liked “nice smells”, candles, incense, hot baths. When he came home from college I would often put a few drops of the jasmine oil I brought back from India, in a vaporizer in his room. Or I would run him a nice hot bath fragrant with essential oils, lavender, rose geranium or spearmint, amongst our favorites.

“What do you need a lighter for?” I had asked Andrew only last summer.
“In case I want to light a candle,” he had explained, taking back his red lighter.

I still have that lighter. I use it every day to light the candles and Jasmine incense that burn in front of his picture in my room.

Oh Andrew, what wouldn’t I give, to have you here and to be able to look after you.

One of the things that is so difficult to comprehend, is that my son is dead because he actually killed himself.

Dozing on and off all day yesterday, I remembered how Andrew (as do Robert and Florentina) always asked before helping himself to food, I mean, just a polite “is it alright if I finish the ice-cream?” or “mummy I am just going out for a ride on my bike,” or ” I’m off to see Zack.”

Then, the one time he did not consult me, or anyone else; he killed himself! He climbed to the 10th floor of Bobst, NYU’s main library and jumped, hit the marble floor and died. Just like that!

And how did he get to the 10th floor by the way, when students are not allowed above the two lower floors, because of previous suicides at the library?
Where was the security when Andrew entered the library at four o’clock in the morning of November 3rd?

So many unanswered questions….

I love you Andrew and I wish you were still here and I could look after you as I did for over twenty years.
Mummy loves you Andrew.

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6 thoughts on “Mummy Loves You Andrew

    • Nice to hear from you, how are you? Where have you been? Will you come to the Fair in September?
      Thank you for reading “me.”

  1. You can be sure that Andrew loved you. He may have felt or thought differently in the end, but that would be only because in his mind he needed permission to go. He went because he couldnt stay. Why? That’s the question I want answered. Despite our love and protection what was it that led my son Bruno to feel hopeless, empty, a failure?
    The only thing we have is his own word, that he was a failure, that he didnt live up to societies and therefore his own standards. Despite our attempts to say he was the opposite of this, that he had taken on many challenges, won academic prizes, learned difficult languages, was an excellent cook, was a walking encyclopedia, was loving, sensitive with a strong sense of social justice, and so on, he was convinced he was a failure. I think my son was alienated, he took societies crap standards to heart and rubbished his own beautiful life. Intellectually he knew this, but emotionally he thought he was nobody, a loser, better off dead, and that drove him mad. I want society to recognise and honor what is beautiful in our son’s and daughter’s lives so that they value them and don’t end them.

    SOSAD
    Dave

    • Dave… you are making me cry. So much of how you describe your son sounds like my son. But I never thought Andrew felt like a failure. I know he found the world wanting, his peers superficial and he was very comfortable with older people even as a child and could engage in meaningful conversation.
      Dave, there is so much that was wonderful, special, unique, miraculous with those boys, and maybe that is why they couldn’t stay any longer than they did.
      Thank you for reminding me that Andrew loved me.
      Dave, why don’t you write something for my blog? You could write about your son, about yourself, whatever you like, and it would be nice to see pictures of Bruno.
      Hugs,
      Esmeralda
      ps. what does SOSAD mean?

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