Dear Andy,
It's 9:00 am and I've just gotten to the office. It's a beautiful clear and sunny morning here in New York. Eerily similar to that same day seven years ago when tragedy struck.
I still remember every moment of that day vividly. James calling me in the office to tell me the news. The mass hysteria surrounding the immediate confusion. Looking out my window and seeing the giant plumes of black smoke envelop the sky. Finally realizing the epic nightmare of what was happening to our beloved city.
I remember hitting the redial button on my phone every two seconds, frantically trying to reach you at your office or on your cell phone. I remember driving around to hospitals all night in New Jersey with our friends, praying that we'd find you in one of them. I remember staying up all night together as we all anxiously waited for the good news that would never come.
All of it seems like just yesterday.
It doesn't surprise me that I can remember so much of that time. You were one of my closest friends and, as a group, it seemed like we spent every single one of our free moments together: evenings, weekends, vacations. When were we ever apart? Even when we all had girlfriends, we were an inseparable group of friends.
So it scared me this week when I was thinking about you and I realized that I was having a hard time remembering every detail about you. What was your cellphone number? Were you a lefty? What was that screenplay you wrote about? Which of the many times down in Miami was it when we laughed our asses off because you got sunburn on your head? How many joint birthday parties did we throw together? How could I not remember these things?
Then I remind myself that those are things that don't matter. Not in the slightest. The only things that matter are that you were one of my closest friends, that I loved you and that your life was tragically cut short.
I still can't believe it's been seven years.
I think it's partly because, out of the past seven years, this one feels like the longest. We lost Sofia's dad this year after a long battle with cancer. We spent the entire summer going back and forth to make more memories with him. The proximity to his death always made me think of you.
I would have loved to have made more memories with you. All I have are the ones from our time together. Wednesday night dinners with you and Kyle every week. All those weekend trips where we crashed on Roy's floor in Miami. The countless rounds of hungover golf. Chinese food every Sunday while watching the Giants game. The birthday parties. The New Year's Eve parties. The times at the beach houses we all rented together every summer. It seemed as if we never had a middle gear.
I guess that's what life in your 20's is all about.
Meanwhile, it's mind-boggling to me that I'm about to celebrate my 40th birthday in a few months. I've got a wife, a child, a serious job, and an even more serious mortgage. I don't play pick-up basketball anymore because it takes too much out of my body. If I sleep in a funny position, my back will be sore for days. And when I look in the mirror, I see wrinkles and creases that make me feel every single one of those 40 years.
But you'll always remain that beautiful, happy-go-lucky guy in his late 20's who always had a smile on his face and a kind word for everyone. There's something oddly comforting in the fact that that's how I'll always remember you.
I hope you're looking down on all of us and still smiling, Andy. I know I still laugh when I see us. Our group of friends (whom you always lovingly referred to as "la famiglia") has certainly gotten older. Russell is exactly the same lovable clown that he always was. Shary has turned into a Persian baby-making machine. Roy has an enormous clan down in Miami still. David finally got married. Of course, Kyle is still single. He spent the past year in L.A. and we all know what a year in L.A. does to that guy. All in all, we don't see each other as much as we used to but, whenever we do, you're always there with us.
I miss you terribly, Andy. These days, thinking of you always puts a smile on my face. You were such an important part of our past that you'll always be a part of our future. I think, after seven long years, I've finally come to terms with losing you. More than anything, I'm not as angry as I used to be. Maybe I'm mellowing with age.
But every year on 9/11, I swear that I'm not going to cry, mourn or bury myself in a bottle of scotch. Unfortunately, ever year, I end up failing miserably. This year, I think I'm finally ready to mourn you by celebrating the amazing love you had for life. I know that's what you would have wanted.
But more than anything, I just want you to know that I'm thinking about you. I always have and I always will.
Rest in peace, Andy.
Love always,
Your friend Pierre
that was beautiful man.
Posted by: Won | September 11, 2008 at 09:30 AM
What a heartfelt letter. Thank you for sharing it with us, and I'm so sorry for your loss.
Posted by: April | September 11, 2008 at 09:33 AM
Sorry for your loss, MD. We lost a close friend on that day also. It really is hard to believe that it's been seven years.
Posted by: Ian | September 11, 2008 at 09:35 AM
I am beyond words and choking back tears. Strangely, I was just thinking about it the other day after watching a video on 9/11, was MD in NYC during 9/11.
Posted by: Rachel | September 11, 2008 at 09:36 AM
Why is it that sudden death affects us so profoundly?
Your letter took me right back to when I lost one of my best friends suddenly - in a light plane crash.
I wonder when I'm ever going to get over it.
I remember 911. It was night time in Australia. The rolling news started about 9.30pm. It was like a horror movie.
But it was real.
More real for you.
Thank you for your post.
Posted by: Cellobella | September 11, 2008 at 09:44 AM
I can't even imagine what it must have been like to be in NYC during 9/11. Whenever I see the news footage, I recoil in horror. Then I think of what it must have been like to witness it in person. With all the natural dangers in the world, it saddens me to see the tragedies that man can inflict on their fellow man.
Sympathies on your loss, MD. Sounds like you lost a great friend. Those are always few and far between, aren't they?
Posted by: Hannah | September 11, 2008 at 09:48 AM
Thank you for remembering your friend, Andy. Thank you for continuing to share the memory of him with us. Thank you for celebrating the love he had for life and for loving life just a wee bit more in celebration of him.
Hugs.
Posted by: Ang | September 11, 2008 at 09:54 AM
we still miss them...
peace to you today, MD- i hope you're able to feel andy's love and light today and everyday. xo.
Posted by: pnuts mama | September 11, 2008 at 10:06 AM
Every year I've read your letter to Andy, it's made me cry, and this year is no exception. Condolences as always. Like the saying goes, we never get over our grief, we just get through it.
Posted by: Pattie | September 11, 2008 at 10:09 AM
Living in Michigan, I sometimes forget how closely personal that 9/11 must have been for all you New Yorkers. We mourn the loss of our fellow citizens but you mourn the loss of close friends and family. Thank you for reminding of this today, MD.
Posted by: kaitlin | September 11, 2008 at 10:21 AM
I have no words. Just warm thoughts for you and your friends. xo
Posted by: whoorl | September 11, 2008 at 10:22 AM
Thank you for sharing this with us, MD. I can feel the pain of your loss and how close you were with Andy. My warmest thoughts are with you today.
Posted by: Leora | September 11, 2008 at 10:28 AM
Every year I read this, and I tell myself that I won't cry.
And then I cry.
Peace to you, and to all of us who bore witness.
Posted by: Karen | September 11, 2008 at 10:35 AM
It's always a difficult day to remember but more so for people who lost someone. Big hugs to you today, MD.
Posted by: Janelle | September 11, 2008 at 10:43 AM
I hope that I have a close friend who will always remember me like that when I'm gone. What a beautiful and moving letter, MD. I'm sorry for your loss. Good luck today.
Posted by: Brad B. | September 11, 2008 at 10:44 AM
Just...thinking of you MD. And your friend.
Posted by: Nina | September 11, 2008 at 10:52 AM
Every year I read your letter to Andy, I always ended up crying.
Im sorry for you loss. hugs.
Posted by: pooi | September 11, 2008 at 10:52 AM
Beautifully put. Utterly captivating.
Posted by: Tara | September 11, 2008 at 10:55 AM
Beautiful as always Pierre. Because of you, I will always think of your friend Andy on this day.
Posted by: Issa | September 11, 2008 at 11:07 AM
Thank you for this reminder. I'm so sorry for your loss. I'll be thinking of you and your friends today along with the rest of NYC.
Posted by: Kari | September 11, 2008 at 11:08 AM
Thanks for putting this up again. It's hard being a New Yorker on this day, and I'm taking a page from you and Citymama and reposting something I had written back in 2001.
Posted by: Kady | September 11, 2008 at 11:15 AM
wow. i can't imagine. hang in there...
Posted by: jeramy | September 11, 2008 at 11:16 AM
Woke up this morning and looked forward to your annual tribute to Andy. Beautiful as always. My best to you and your family today.
Posted by: MetroDude | September 11, 2008 at 11:21 AM
Seems nearly impossible to me that I have read several of these, and yet they tug my heart strings everytime. Years go by so quickly.
Thank you for the reminder and lovely tribute. It helps us all to remember.
Posted by: Becca | September 11, 2008 at 11:41 AM
Ive never posted but read religiously. Peace to you MD and thank you for showing us the real meaning of friendship.
Posted by: pamalicious | September 11, 2008 at 11:58 AM
Over ten years ago, a good friend took her life. In a random act of violence, her boyfriend had been robbed and killed and she never recovered from the grief of that loss. Like you with Andy, I have great memories of Beck and I still struggle to grasp how her life ended so soon.
That being said, whenever I hear "Me and Julio Down By The Schoolyard", I think of her. I can hear her squeaky voice belting out the words and I can see her smiling face as she bops her head to the beat. Life still goes on but the memories make her absence easier to stomach.
Beautiful post, MD. Just beautiful. I'm a hormonal mess already on the brink of tears and you totally drove me over the edge. Thanks for sharing.
Posted by: Paige Jennifer | September 11, 2008 at 12:32 PM
As always on this day, I'm thinking about you, Andy, and your friends. Loss is never easy but a loss like that is so especially tragic and sad. Thanks for sharing with with us.
Posted by: Helen P. | September 11, 2008 at 12:43 PM
Beautiful tribute to your friend, Metro Dad. I'm thinking of all of those who lost loved ones seven years ago today. May they all rest in peace.
Posted by: Daddy Dan | September 11, 2008 at 12:50 PM
What a beautiful post. Tears in my eyes.
Posted by: shawna | September 11, 2008 at 12:56 PM
I lost my closest friend growing up in a car accident several years ago. Like you, the slipping grasp of every single detail about his life worries me. But you're right. The most important thing to remember is the friendship that bonds you. Really, sometimes it's the only thing that gets me through the day. Great post, MD.
Posted by: JDG | September 11, 2008 at 01:01 PM
I always look forward to your letters to Andy. I write a similar one every year in June to a friend who died eleven years ago.
Beautiful post, MD. Thanks for sharing it with us.
Posted by: Molly Chase | September 11, 2008 at 01:15 PM
Thank you for writing this letter and letting us read it. I am really sorry for this loss of yours. (So far, I have been quite pampered that way as I haven't suffered these kind of losses of close ones - yet.).
Apart from that, and being from another part of this world, I wish your letter to Andy had appeared in every newspaper there is today. It might have helped not to see another nation as an anonymous cluster of "them" (or, worse, identify a people by their politicians).
Your letter lets us feel and know (if one is open for this) that it's only about human beings and our feelings for each other.
Thanks again MD.
Jochen
Posted by: Jochen | September 11, 2008 at 01:41 PM
.........
Posted by: Ka_Jun | September 11, 2008 at 01:41 PM
I sometimes have to remind myself that every single one of those lives lost on 9/11 affected so many thousands more. Thanks for keeping that fresh in my thoughts, MD. Beautiful post and I'm sorry for your loss.
Posted by: R.Kim | September 11, 2008 at 01:47 PM
Beautiful letter. It was just the kind of 9/11 tribute I needed to read today.
Posted by: twizzle | September 11, 2008 at 02:03 PM
thanks for letting us see another little piece of your soul today.
glad i'm not being evacuated from the 51st floor this year (of a building in atlanta, so it's not it was necessary).
Posted by: muskrat | September 11, 2008 at 02:09 PM
Andy sounds like an amazing friend. Our thoughts are with you today.
Posted by: Brenda | September 11, 2008 at 02:13 PM
Not sure what to say here... just wanted to... you know... say it.
Posted by: NG | September 11, 2008 at 02:18 PM
It's too rare that we find such special friends during our lifetime. It's even sadder when we lose them.
My best friend drowned 6 years ago. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her. God, I miss her. I share your pain, MD.
Posted by: karen w. | September 11, 2008 at 02:19 PM
Beautiful, MD.
This day is so heartbreaking...
Posted by: Liberal Banana | September 11, 2008 at 02:30 PM
Do you know that poem Death Is Nothing At All by Henry Scott Holland? "Death is nothing at all / I have only slipped away into the next room / I am I and you are you / Whatever we were to each other, that we still are...."
Sometimes it helps.
http://skdesigns.com/internet/articles/prose/holland/death/
Posted by: Nothing But Bonfires | September 11, 2008 at 02:37 PM
Thank you for sharing another heartfelt letter to Andy. I was thinking of you last night and have been this morning, wondering how you are doing and how you would remember your friend.
As always, you've done it beautifully.
Posted by: Aimee | September 11, 2008 at 02:44 PM
I wish there was a word for "I send you my concern and love and take on a piece of your mourning in case that might help."
Maybe in German.
Posted by: nonlineargirl | September 11, 2008 at 03:12 PM
Damn. You make me cry. everytime.
Beautiful words, MD
Posted by: Linda | September 11, 2008 at 03:43 PM
I lost my one of my closest aunts yesterday and have been trying to find the right words. You encapsulated a lot of what I wanted to say. Thanks for this.
T.I.
Posted by: Soccer Dad | September 11, 2008 at 06:38 PM
Beautiful, as always.
Posted by: Kathy | September 11, 2008 at 06:53 PM
You know, I've lost a lot of family members now (I'm 40 myself) -- parents, sister, aunts, uncles, grandarents -- but I've never lost a friend. I think that would be almost more painful. Especially under such unimagineable circumstances.
My heart aches for your loss.
Posted by: Susan | September 11, 2008 at 07:11 PM
Just like you promise yourself that you shall not drown in a bottle of gin, I promise myself that each time I read you letter I shall not cry. Everytime I fail. Your love for your dear friend touches a special place in me, thank you for sharing yourself so deeply with everyone.
Posted by: Soul | September 11, 2008 at 07:41 PM
On 9/11, I lost my oldest friend. Jason and I were baptized together and had spent our entire lives together as friends. The moment the planes hit him in the tower we were on email back and forth talking about our respective weekends. He never replied. Like you, I redialed like a fanatic. That day not only did we lose Jason, we lost his father in the same tower.
Thank you for your post Metrodad. Today is a hard day and it is always hard to remember the little things as time goes on. Thank you for your post.
Posted by: Christie | September 11, 2008 at 07:44 PM
I'm so sorry for your loss and the loss so many others are feeling today. What a beautiful letter, and a beautiful way to memorialize your friend.
Posted by: Rachael | September 11, 2008 at 08:08 PM