Andy, my friend,
All the stories and tributes about how brave you were, about your singular and steadfast gaze on the small and vulnerable in the midst of chaos, about how kids loved you and you loved them, about how and why your work was riveting and important, all of these are true.
It is also true that you were often pretty nervous and awkward around girls and were eager for coaching. That you came early and stayed late. That you relished a home cooked meal and in the early days, drank a lot of my beer. That though you almost always were over to watch a movie with my Andy, you saw me, and in your gaze I was always beautiful, and you were always up for dancing. By the time that you were not well, the family quality of our friendship was complete, my half Dutch, all American little brother, and in those dark days you let me mother you. Your vulnerability and simple gratitude for human connection at each one of those stages was a gift that brought out the same in every one — so many! — in your world.
Today I should have been reaching out to wish you a happy birthday. I’m going to do my best to trust that you knew how much I loved you, even though it had been way too long.
I miss you, buddy.
Love always, Jenny
