Andy

Andy and I’s friendship precipitated in the office hallways six years ago.  He was loud and passionate about everything.  He was an engineer, an inventor, a jack of all trades…MacGyver in a suit.  After a particularly long grueling meeting, I found myself over at Andy’s cube discussing the project and the asinine ways of our distributors.  He fixed my favorite ball point pen using the tiny spring from a combination lock he dismantled at his desk.  Pictures of sharks and diving suit clad guys were pinned to the corkboard above his desk.  As a girl from the land locked lines of Montana I was drawn to the ocean scenes.  And so a rather unlikely friendship developed.  Andy told stories with both hands and big expressions.  He watched my dog, Willow, during meetings.  He was the only person she’d sit with and not cry.  We talked about nature documentaries and sharks.  I listened to the adventures he conjured up…and I started to think my own adventures were really possible.  Andy was infectiously passionate about life.  About living life, and he was brave enough to fight for his happiness and passions.  He made me feel special, unique, beautiful, smart and interesting.  He believed I was all those things, and by doing so I believed them to. I suspect he had this affect on all his friends.  For one of our many lunches, he appeared looking as if he had fallen out of an African safari in head to toe khaki.  He said he was wearing khaki for the entire month to honor the great Steve Erwin.  Andy didn’t mind being different.  Although we both left those office halls for different paths, our friendship continued as a string of lunch dates and thousands of “someday” plans.  Someday he’d take me diving at night.  Someday he and I would go up north to the underwater marine park and swim through the kelp forest.  Someday he and his wife would visit me in Grenada.  Someday we’d go hiking, have dinner, see each other’s new homes.  Someday.

About a week ago I talked to Andy on the phone for an hour as he drove from one of his many quests to yet another.  And we created yet another someday plan.  And we promised to see it through.  Someday very soon we’d have a long visit.  Someday in October.  He was off on yet another adventure with close friends.  Like most of his adventures this one was underwater in the glow of moonlight.  Chasing the tales of animals they try so hard to keep hidden.  He was excited and so very happy.  I couldn’t wait for him to get back so I could hear the stories.  He made me promise to call when I was next in Portland. 

Andy passed away on Wednesday…the sea taking him as it has done so many others...the adventure only half completed.  So I sit and mentally go through my closet wondering what I could wear to honor my friend. Cataloguing what I can do to ensure that I am the person I became when I was around him.  Wondering if I can listen to my friends with the same fervor he listened to me.  And I cry.  For myself, for his beautiful wife and family, for the dogs awaiting his return…for his friends who were with him and tried so hard to keep him here.

I miss my friend. 

If there is magic on this planet, it is contained in water. Loren Eiseley