Andy – part 9

I got a text” – Andy’s passes

I got a text from Len the afternoon of October 11 around 4pm. He explained that Andy had a massive bleed on his brain, that he was in ICU and the doctors didn’t expect him to last but a few days. It was like a lightning bolt had hit me. I thought back to the call Andy made to say goodbye 5 months earlier. This was harder. It sounded final. It sounded like the doctors and Len knew that this was the end. If they were convinced, then this was real. Andy would probably die soon. I would lose my friend.

I was leaving town for a wedding the next morning. We got to the airport for our 10:00am flight to Boston. As we approached the gate I got a text. I had a coffee in my hand and luggage in the other. It took me a minute to sit down and gather myself to check my phone. It was text from Len. Andy was gone.

I cried. Like a baby. In the airport and right in front of all the people sitting at our gate. I couldn’t help it. Andy was that kind of guy.

Like Chris and Darin, I too have regrets. I spent some time purposefully thinking about them. I took the time to write them down because I still have time to change how I engage with others. I already have because of Andy’s example.

  • I regret not asking him play his guitar for me – he loved music, I love music. He would have been thrilled to have someone ask. To have someone enjoy his talent
  • I regret that I did not call him more when he was at Vanderbilt – I know he would have called me. I realize that great friends like Andy are hard to measure up to
  • I regret that I did not say “yes” more when he asked if I wanted to come over and play some Pinball – I love the game, as did he. How could we lose?

Be Nice, like Andy” – My faith

October 15th at 10:31am on a beautiful fall day, I was writing an update memo to my boss when it hit me – this question: “Why did you start a Pinball blog?” followed by this question “Just 4 weeks before Andy passed away?” followed by “Why was the very last picture you posted to your blog before Andy passed, a picture of Andy?” followed by “the intent of the article that featured Andy’s photo was – Be Nice”. Like Andy was. To all. My faith answers these questions because I believe that everything that happens to us is with purpose and God’s plan in mind. So on that morning I came to realized that God had been preparing me to author this small piece of Andy’s story. I’m beyond certain that he’s prepared a place for Andy as well.

Andy’s burial site

Here on earth Andy already has a place. I know because I took Len out to lunch later that day, and when we were finished, he took me to the cemetery where Andy will be laid to rest. It was the most beautiful day of the year. Temperature around 72 degrees, low humidity and perfect sunshine. We parked my truck and walked to the plot where Andy, and eventually, Len and JoAnne will be laid to rest. It was perfect. It was peaceful. It’s close enough that any of his Knoxville friends can visit. The cemetery is full of big Oak trees and the grounds are kept neat and tidy. Len pointed out that Andy would be placed nearby the great Oak we were standing by. It’s strange and really hard to explain how I felt as we walked the grounds of the cemetery. It was almost like Andy was with us – and I shared that thought with Len. Maybe it was the peacefulness of the cemetery and the melancholy of the day but the feeling as we walked and talked was low key, low drama, sort of a “smell the roses” moment and, well … kind of like Andy.

We walked slowly back to the truck. No tears. I put my hand on the door handle and thought about this story. I stopped. It was quite a distance back to the plot area but I started walking in that direction. I shouted to Len that I wanted a photo. For some reason, I had a need to snap a picture in that moment on that day – so I did. I got down on one knee right where Andy will be buried and pointed the camera toward that great oak with the sunshine gleaming through its branches and took just one photo. It came out perfect. When I look at it now, I go back to that spot in time and I can feel Andy. I can remember how easy he was to be with. I can remember his love for people. I can remember my friend.

Make him proud” – Pinball & People

Perhaps it’s fitting to end Andy’s story with Pinball. It’s the platform he used to connect with people. I never saw it until now. I began this writing journey thinking that a significant amount of the content would be Pinball related. Clearly the story took another direction. It’s a much richer story than that. It’s a story of Andy setting the best example I will ever see in my life of how to live with, engage with and love your fellow man.

The day that Andy passed we were headed to Boston, I cried in the airport when I received the text message from Andy’s Dad, I cried on the runway as we landed in Boston, I cried in the hotel as I read Darin’s beautiful tribute on Pinside. Later that evening I cried in the Boston restaurant as I ate dinner with my wife. I also did something else that day – I impulsively reacted to a FB post from my sister that said “Make him proud and buy a new Pinball!” So I did. I placed a Metallica Premium Pinball order the day he passed – it was a purposeful, defiant, and impulsive thing to do. It was also one of Andy’s favorite Pinball games. He tried to help me buy one on at least 2 occasions but timing did not work out. Andy, my friend. It’s all worked out now. We know you are at peace. We know that you are no longer in pain. And every time I play that game, I’ll think of you and be amazed at how many lives you blessed in 38 short years.

I miss Papa” – Ida shares a truth

I promised that we would hear from Ida before we finished and we’ve come to that point in the story. It’s still not clear to Ida exactly what has happened to her Dad. She’s much too young to process the concept. When the subject of Andy comes up, she’ll respond with a simple, innocent phrase that so perfectly captures how we all feel about Andy …

“I miss Papa, but I know his love is in my heart.”

Amen Ida, you are wise beyond your years …

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