Andrew Heathman M.

Andy M., 21 1/2 February 21, '76 - October 12, '97 drown

My Dearest Andy,

It has been almost a year now since you drowned in Corfu, Greece, while backpacking with Rob, Dildar, and Greg. I’m an hour or two away from another anniversary—the last time I heard your voice. You called at about 5:15am to wish me a happy retirement. I was sleepy but touched that you remembered in the midst of happy backpacking that it was my last day at work.

Your Dad and I have had a year of firsts since we received that fateful call – the one week, the one month, the first Thanksgiving, the first Christmas, your birthday and all of the other special days and holidays. When I think about what I miss most, it is your teasing deep voice that said, "Hello, Mother," the quick hugs, the times we watched your favorite parts of "Star Wars" one more time, playing Scrabble, or hearing the intensity in your voice as you talked about politics. I’m learning to live in the present sometimes a day at a time. For the most part, I’ve graduated from a moment at a time. The "nevers" haunt me. You will never marry, never have a child, and never grow old. Your niece and nephews will never really know you except by our stories of you and from pictures. As the tears trickle down my face, while listing my personal "nevers", I realize once again, I am out there thinking about the future. So for now, I shut that painful future door.

My life is now one of "before Andy" and "after Andy". Honey, I am learning to live with my grief as you live 24 hours a day in my heart and soul. I wear a public face most of the time which friends, neighbors, and even loved ones on occasion use to determine how I am getting along. Your Dad and I wish that you were here with us. We want your messy room back, and we want to see your red car being driven a bit too fast go by our kitchen window once again. We know you are with God and in a better place, but I can’t stop my mothering as I pray every day, "Dear God, please take care of Andy. I love him so."

All my love, Mom

(Robin M.)