Category Archives: Andy

This fun pic shows the reflection of Andy white illuminating that Abba was playing on the radio – ‘Fernando’ to be exact. The last time we had the twins over, I made a joke of Abba and I’ve been texting it to them ever since. An inside joke, it’s just something that makes me smile now, and Abba has become a code word for fun when talking with them. 

Further proof that Abba is timeless. 

Every year at around this time I can sense Andy recoiling from the world a little bit, slipping into the sadness of the season, and no doubt remembering when he lost his Mum. Next week will mark twenty years since she died, and for him it’s still as sad and sorrowful as when it happened, perhaps compounded by being without her for such a long time. Sometimes grief subsides in certain ways, while growing in others. 

The holidays are marked by two memories I have of his Mum: the first is a very happy and funny one, taking place on Christmas Eve the first year I was dating Andy. We were stopping by his house en route to mine, and he told me she would offer me a highball, and it was ok to say yes. (He knew I might otherwise have declined in a desperate act to be polite.) It was a bit nerve-wracking, as it was the first time I was meeting her, and in my nervous discombobulation when she offered me the drink I enthusiastically said yes, then mentioned that I’d heard she liked to drink. It didn’t come out right because there’s no way for that comment to come out right. She looked my way, then looked at Andy, and let it slide. We would laugh about it for years. (At least I wasn’t wearing a ‘Get Wicked Tonight’ t-shirt to meet her, as he did when meeting mine.)

The second holiday memory is when she was sick, and we got a call from the hospital on Thanksgiving and had to leave the Ko house early. By then he already felt like part of the family, so losing her was losing one of our own. I wish I’d gotten to spend more time with her. 

Twenty years later, it feels freshly painful all over again, so I’m letting Andy lead the way on how he wants to proceed as far as what he wants to do on Thanksgiving. Still, I know she is with us, and Andy knows it too, whenever a cardinal comes to visit or partake of our seven sons flower tree, or flit around the front thuja hedge. She’s there whenever Andy gives me a quick look for something inappropriate I’ve inadvertently said or done, just like on that first night when I met her. And she’s with him whenever he gets down at this time of the year, in ways that I can’t comfort or ameliorate. 

Dear Andy ~ 

Twenty-one years ago we had a rather rainy summer, not unlike the one we are having this year. Great for the gardens, not so great for sunny summer fun. We were both beginning to come out from relationships that had hurt, and we were both finally learning to be happy on our own. I took the rainy season as a sign of healing and forgiveness, a way of moving beyond the past while honoring our present. I don’t think either of us intended to find a love that would last beyond a night at Oh Bar, so when your friend Patrick invited me to sit down at your table, I sat across from you and did my best to ignore the butterflies in my stomach, and the way your gaze cut through to my heart unlike any other man I’d ever met. 

You seemed reasonable and fair, kind and grounded. Something about you felt calm and safe, and though I sensed you were not quite over injuries suffered in the recent past, I also sensed you had accepted life in a way that my immaturity could not yet fathom. 

The more we talked, the more I fell into your blue eyes. More thrilling was the hope and sense that you were falling into me as well – I honestly felt you were so far above my league that I wasn’t even sure you meant to be talking to me. 

Outside, the night felt calm and quiet. After raining all day, the clouds had departed and the world felt clean and new, the way it sometimes does after a heavy rainfall. Do you remember walking to our cars? I was going to follow you home because we both knew something special was afoot, even as I fought against falling so quickly. I didn’t expect the ride to be so long, and I didn’t mind in the least; I would have followed you anywhere. 

When we arrived at your house, it was dim, but you carried that sense of safety and calm with you – something you would provide no matter where we found ourselves – Boston, Ogunquit, New York – and I understood then that it didn’t matter the precise place or location: you were already my home. 

When I left, it was practically morning. Fumbling awkwardly in your kitchen, I told you I’d probably never see you again, and as would become the case many times over in the ensuing decades, I’d never been so wrong, and so happy to be wrong. 

Happy anniversary, Drew. 

I love you. ~ A. 

Only Andy and I, and a few select Audi associates, will ever truly understand the epic failure and subsequent journey that was undertaken and endured to reach this smiling point of happiness with a vehicle. As any regular reader will tell you, Andy is all about his car. He has a photo album of every car he’s ever owned or leased, like a proud parent or grandparent, and he religiously researches and keeps up to date on all the latest news about whichever model currently occupies the garage. It’s his passion and his hobby, and one of the three things I looked for in a mate all those years ago. (When we were young and foolish enough to demand such things in a partner, one of the things I wanted was someone who was passionate about something – it didn’t need to be anything that I liked or enjoyed, it just had to be something about which they were excited and knowledgable about – and in Andy’s case that was cars. I still get a kick out of watching him peruse his car magazines and figuring out which car package would work best in any given situation.) 

His last Audi was a lemon of the most sour variety – you couldn’t eve make lemonade with how dangerous it was getting. (The automatic correction thingie almost smacked us into a truck on the Mass Turnpike.) Luckily, he reached an agreement on a new car with the local Audi dealership, so for now things are looking up after a year-long nightmare. His smile says it all, and I have a sleek new ride to work.