It’s funny, or maybe lucky, that despite all the travelling he did, he was taken from us when he was home. At this time, we can only gather that Andrew experienced a medical emergency that took his life while he was getting ready to go to work. The work that was his life, for better or worse. Unless you worked with him regularly, you were probably lucky to see him two or three times a year. I’m having a hard time with that fact right now.

I've spent the last two days struggling with this new reality where Andrew isn't just a phone call or text away, even if he was on the other side of the county. All of these decisions and things that need to be done, my first instinct is to loop him in for his perspective. Obviously, I can’t do that now.

I've been hearing from Andrew’s friends and reading everyone's posts on Facebook, where they are sharing their stories and pictures. I'm so grateful for them. Please keep sharing your stories. I wish he were here so he could read them and witness the mark he has left on this world; on everyone he has come into contact with. I’m not sure he was ever truly aware of how much his presence affected others. How much he offered to everything and everyone around him. How much he meant to people. He was always willing to help, to take over, to defend, to ensure the people he cared about or the work he cared about was no less than perfect. He hated asking for help but was always ready to give it.

In my memory, I hear his laughter, his groans of incredulity, and his snores when he would fall asleep whenever he was given the chance. I remember when everything was a “you might be a redneck” joke. I remember his inability to send a text with multiple sentences and instead would send a separate text for each line (or was it just me to get 6 texts in a row before I could get a chance to respond?). I remember his calm presence in the face of uncertainty or stress. I remember his bear hugs and the strong grip that he would use to greet my boyfriends. I remember Andrew. My big brother.

I imagine right now that he’s standing in the corner behind me with his arms crossed, saying, “Take your time, I’m ready when you are. Do what you need to do.”

I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to say bye to you, but I hope you finally get some rest.

I love you, Andrew.