I’ve been struggling to put pen to paper about Andy, not because there aren’t great things to say about him, but because writing something about him makes his passing all the more real and true. I met Andy randomly one night back in 2011 at a neighborhood bar. I was saving a stool for a friend who was running late, and Andy walked in and asked if he could sit there. It was crowded so there weren’t any seats besides that one. I told him in a very matter-of-fact way that I was saving it for a friend, but he could sit there until my friend came, and at that point then he’d have to get up. Andy laughed when I said that, and sat down. He had just moved into his apartment that night & was new to the neighborhood. When my friend came, Andy got up to move, and my friend scolded me for being rude & then he found another stool in the bar and brought it over so Andy could stay in his seat. I kept repeating that I hadn’t meant to be rude & had just been being honest, & all I can remember is Andy laughing at me & saying he appreciated my candor. Luckily Andy didn’t think I was being bitchy, and understood I had just been looking out for a friend. His forgiving nature and his assuming the best of intentions is what I remember most about our first meeting. The three of us all hung out that night, & Andy & I exchanged info. It took several months to hang out again due to our schedules, but what I remember from our subsequent night out was that Andy told me about his travels and nonchalantly mentioned he had biked 100 miles the weekend before. (Oh, & he also threw in a sub about his best marathon time beating mine, & told me I was slow.) That was Andy— always downplaying his amazing feats and travels and work, & always giving me gentle ribbing, like an older brother would have done. He would say comments that he knew would irritate me & push the envelope, and oh how he’d laugh when I’d get annoyed, give him the side eye, and tell him to stop. He thought it was funny because he always said I didn’t get mad very often.
Andy and I became running buddies in late 2014. I had a running job, so Andy started coming to workouts. The first time he came out, he hadn’t run in years, & despite my protests that it was too much too soon, he joined the 7 mile group I was pacing & completed the whole thing. When Andy went in on something, he went in big and he committed; there was no half-assing it with him. He showed up on Saturday mornings in his tights, and we ran all sorts of miles around NYC that winter in the crazy freezing weather. He loved it and began posting photos with his #tights hashtag. I told him many times that his running fashion needed sprucing up, but he laughed & shook his head at me & kept wearing that drab brown Patagonia sweater jacket. He made me laugh so hard quite often with his sense of humor, and after runs, we’d often take the train home together & chop it up on the ride home, or sometimes I’d stop by his apartment on my way to workouts and pick him up & we’d catch up that way. We put a lot of miles in that winter and spring, & I still remember us running through Central Park one cold Saturday morning, with him heckling me as I paced him and a group of runners, & me not being able to rudely retort back as I normally would because I was working, & him relishing in that fact, ribbing me relentlessly. He ran a half marathon that May. His shorts split down the rear the night before, so he MacGyvered them up and ran in them the next day. He seemed to be in his element at the end of that race with all his running pals around him, & I remember he looked so happy on the Cyclones baseball field afterwards. He even had taken a post race dip in the ocean after. Andy and I talked exercise stuff often, & he was always telling me how he loved weights & shit talked a lot, saying he was faster than me. (He wasn’t, ha ha.)
Those runs brought us closer, and although there was a point Andy didn’t run with me anymore, we still saw one another, just not as often. When he first started feeling down, he’d come to my apartment sometimes and hang out. It was extremely hard to see him hurting & struggling so much. Sometimes I would listen & other times, I’d give him tough love & reprimand him like an old lady aunty would. I hope he understood that it wasn’t that I didn’t care; I just wanted him to take the steps needed to get better. I hope he knew that I did the best I could.
Though he had a wry sense of humor, Andy was a sensitive man who really thought deeply about things. He’d call me up and bare his soul and apologize for what he thought was complaining. I’d always tell him it wasn’t. Because it wasn’t. We were friends being there for one another. I also knew that Andy hid parts of himself so if he was willing to bare them, it was significant. Andy struggled like most of us do, & he wanted to be able to tough it out and push through, like many of us often want to. He was courageous, letting folks in when he felt the most vulnerable & embarrassed, & we saw him at some really tough points. Even in his darkest moments he was able to laugh and find humor, & I always appreciated that about him. Eventually he took the steps to get better, & slowly he did. He told me he was going to CA for a visit, but he then ended up staying there for good. I never got to see him before he left, & though he invited me to come visit numerous times, life got in the way and I never did. So I never got to say goodbye.
Andy would always encourage me to go for it when any opportunity would come my way. Often I was too hesitant, and I wish I had Andy’s drive and lack of fear for new situations. I admired it so much. He threw himself into his work with a passion and vigor. He seemed unafraid to go on the front lines. If he was white knuckling it, he never ever said it. He went to parts of the world that most of us would never see, & documented the marginalized people who suffered from disasters, wars, & displacement; all sorts of terrible things. He witnessed so much, and did it fearlessly, camera in hand. He didn’t talk much about his work & accomplishments to me, & I wish I would have asked more about it now. He always downplayed it as being very “everyday” though we both knew it wasn’t, and I wish I’d have heard more stories from him about his work & travels. I definitely missed out.
Though Andy would poke fun at me constantly and try to get under my skin, when I made jokes about myself it was another matter. Andy always countered my self deprecating jokes with positives. He was the kind of guy who made sure you knew your positive attributes, & he reminded you constantly of them. He always made you feel important, beautiful, appreciated, & understood, & after hanging out with him you walked out of there feeling better about yourself than when you had come in. Even in his last days when he was struggling, Andy was a pillar of support for me and extended himself. To know that he did that while he was struggling so much is remarkable and speaks to the type of person and friend he was. Even when it was hard for him, he found the time to listen and encourage. I’m still awed by the sheer generosity of it. He made room, even when things were super tough for him.
Among many things, I’ll miss Andy for his sheer honesty, his love of exercise & those weights he raved about that he had in his apartment (I never quite understood how they worked, despite the many times he patiently tried to school me on it), his sarcasm & jokes, him introducing me to movies at Nitehawk (he was right; it is a great place!), his love of that awful Rosemunde sausage place, many afternoons of hot chocolate and coffee & nights of beers, comedy show outings, our heated discussions about his crazy food fads, him making me laugh when things were serious and tough for either one of us, his courage in the face of managing not one but two difficult medical illnesses, & most importantly, his enthusiasm, enjoyment, & curiosity for the smaller things in life. He reminded me to get excited about things and appreciate the simple things in life. On winter runs, especially those in Central Park I’ll think of him always complaining during the slog of it but saying how amazing & refreshed & alive he felt after. As I walk around the neighborhood, I’m reminded of him so damn much. Andy was a good soul, as they say, and I’m truly lucky & better for it to have known him & have had him as a friend. I’m going to miss him for sure. The night of our final call, after we hung up, I realized I hadn’t said I love you. I thought of calling back to say it, but it was really late, so I thought, “oh, he knows” & I went to bed. I now wish I had called back and told him. I’m hoping that Andy knew.
Andy, I wish you could have stayed. I really, really do. But I understand. I’m hoping you have found peace and are not suffering anymore. I hope your mind is calmed and free of worry. I hope you’re smiling in some sunny place with a beautiful, picturesque view fit for that camera of yours. And I hope you know that you left so many people behind that really feel your absence & loved you, including me. You brought us all together, & some of us forged friendships because of you. I’ll miss you dearly, my friend. Rest easy.
Priya Seshan
