In memory of Andrew

There is a beautiful and sexy woman from my kids bus stop who began talking to me about the skiing adventures she has seemingly been going on every weekend of late. She had joined some local club of hipsters and athletes and on one weekend she might be touring the Mount St. Helens volcano on ski's and another she would be down hilling in Montana.

She told me how met this guy named Andrew who would join her on her weekend adventures. She was always talking about how handsome, smart, sexy and wonderful he was. Apparently he just happened to be gay. There is always that nugget that removes men from total and complete perfection. Usually is goes something like, "he is swell and smart and successful and, Married." This time she got to build Andrew up with how perfect everything about him was, and then, Gay. When she would talk about Andrew, I often would ask her why she did not set me up. I thought it would be fun. There was talk of a date, and then there would be recollections of late night skiing and a dinner in a diner off some beaten path, it was all so adventurous and romantic.

This went on for a month or so. Andrew stories, skiing, semi-romantic dinners, long drives back from semi-romantic dinners and skiing. Ir really did seem almost perfect. I mean, think about it, those long days of physical exertion have a way of bringing out the best in people. I have found the best people I know are athletic. We ride bikes together, or kick soccer balls, or just sweat. It is hard to be creepy when you are exerting yourself.

A couple of weeks ago, I stopped by my friends house and she came out and hugged me and started crying. Big heavy crying. Dangerous crying. Andrew had been hit while riding his motorcycle. He was dead.

We sat there, awkward. I never have proper words in cases like that, so I tend to choose silence. And listen. She sobbed, that pained sobbing that people do when all of a sudden someone who should not go missing is gone. We all pretend to be profound at moments like that, as if death and dying is something we understand, but we don't, or at least I don't. I do know that not having the answer to immediate loss of someone important is no excuse to being cold, so I sat and offered my hand, and my ear and my heart.

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There is a house on a hillside in Seattle that over looks the cities industrial area, and to the right, the baseball stadium and beyond everything, all of Puget Sound. But it is also right above the busiest freeway in the Pacific Northwest. A sad trade off. The house is on a very steep road that leads to my friend Glenn's house. I would ride my bike up that steep hill and often stop for water and a rest in front of what had become my favorite house. For many years that house had been deserted and sometimes I thought about looking into buying it, and fixing it, and enjoying the view.

I never actually looked into buying it, but Andrew did. He bought the house, painted it, cleaned it up and ripped out the wild growth of blackberries and planted a beautiful garden filled with flowers, native shrubs and a wonderful collection of herbs.

About a week ago my friend told me that Andrew's mother was going to come to Seattle to clean out his house, and to do the things people do when they lose a family member. I offered to help and asked where Andrew had lived. That's when she told me that he lived in the house that for years I have adored.

My help was not needed. But two days ago she asked if I could drop off a jacket at Andrews house, and that there would be another waiting for me, left hanging at the back door. A simple drop off and exchange deal. I would not have to interact with the grieving mother, which would be best for me, because I am nothing if not terminally shy when it comes to interacting with emotional people.

I rode my bike into the city, thru the industrial area and up that steep challenging hill. Stopping as I have done dozens of times at the house I adore. The view was everything you would want, a busy industrial area, the Mariners stadium sitting alone and quiet and off in the background, a dark storm blowing around the Olympics on the other side of Puget Sound. The jacket was on the door, and I exchanged them and stood at the dark and lonely door. I could hear a voice in the house. I knew it had to be Andrews mother. I wanted to knock, but I knew better.

I took the jacket and folded it up and put it in my backpack and quietly closed the screen door. Then I did something that is completely against my character and something that I did without even bothering to think. I pressed the doorbell. I don't even know why I did it. Soon enough, Andrews mother opened the door. She has lite gray hair, a warm beautiful face, her eyes dark with circles and a deep red from lack of sleep and countless hours of crying.

I told her who I was and that I was just exchanging jackets. She opened the door, leaned toward me and we hugged one another, deeply and in that moment, for me, everything changed. I had not given any thought to what I would say, and maybe that was a mistake. I started to tell her that I was sorry for her loss and that I was a father of a son and when I heard what had happened...and then I started to cry and she started to cry and she hugged me some more and we stood there, embracing and that storm that was brewing slowly started to rain down upon us.

She held my hand and invited me into the house. We talked for quite a long time. She showed me the poster from the memorial service that the hiking club had put together for Andrew. There were about 15 pictures of Andrew on a poster board. Always with snow or mountains or bikes around him and he an incredibly handsome man, always smiling a large, beautiful infectious smile.

It was inspiring to be near her. I can not even imagine the pain she was feeling and the strength it takes to dismantle her sons life.

Tomorrow I am taking the day and driving Andrews mother around, there are packages to ship, a lawyer to talk to, a bank account of some sort, paper work and necessary busy work. She has no car. I offered to help and she accepted. She told me I was an angel. I reminded her that I too had a son. She kissed me on the cheek and I got on my bike and I was on my way.