Dear Andy

Dear Andy,

It's 1:00 am on 9/11. I'm lying on the couch watching our beloved Mets play the fucking Braves. I've got ice packs on my neck and back. And due to a couple of herniated discs in my neck, I'm hopped up on Percocet, muscle relaxants, and a vodka martini. In short, I'm a fucking mess. 

Man, getting old sucks.

You always were my favorite hypochondriac so I guess it's only appropriate that I'm complaining to you on the 14th anniversary of your passing. Oy to the fucking vey, my friend. If I can't complain to you, who can I complain to? 

Remember when you were convinced that the bump on your head from basketball was causing memory loss? Or that time you passed out on the subway the morning after we partied all night at the VMA Awards and you were certain that you'd been poisoned? And how many times did you call Dr. Paul about some mysterious skin blotch that was sure to be the sign of something serious? 

Just thinking about it brings a huge smile to my face. Man, we used to love winding you up and then calming you down. After Paul would sigh and tell you that it was just a zit, we'd laugh our asses off and tell you to stay off the internet. We'd have to remind you that WebMD was like a choose-your-own-adventure where the ending is always cancer.

I still think about you all the time, brother. Strangely, instead of reminiscing about our past life together, I find myself pondering what your life would be like now. I wonder why I do that. Does it have to do with my own feelings about getting older? A sign of my growing fears of mortality? Morbid curiosity? 

Would you be married with kids? Or would you and Kyle still be living together uptown? Would you have continued working in finance at Cantor Fitzgerald? Or would you be working on that screenplay? Would you still call me every morning right when you got to the office? Or would we only text sporadically to check in with one another? Just thinking about that possibility makes me sad.

Who knows? Maybe your life would have gone in a completely different direction altogether and we would have drifted apart. You were so young when you passed that the world before you was still open with so many possibilities. 

I like to think that you would be as much a part of my life now as you always had been. 

Over the past year, I've attended funerals memorializing the deaths of many of our friends' parents. And while I grieve for our friends' losses, I always find myself thinking about you at those funerals. As the father of three daughters, I find myself crying not about the loss of a friend's parents, but instead, over the sad and unnatural tragedy of a parent outliving one's child. 

In a strange way, that's how I feel about losing you. 

Fourteen years (and a few Percocets later), I'm still as confused as always in my feelings about grieving you. I don't want to canonize your life or oversentimentalize your death. Yet I want to revel in it. I want to feel the pain, the loss, the suffering. I want to remember every detail of our life together. 

More than anything, I don't want to forget. What you meant to me. How much you were a part of my life. And how I miss you now as much as I did 14 years ago. 

Surprisingly, I'm not angry. I've never been angry about losing you. Maybe being angry helps some people but, as a Korean Scorpio, I think I've got enough anger in my life. Instead, I just continue to grieve. 

Maybe there should be a statute of limitations on grief. A rule that says it is all right to wake up crying on 9/11, but only for a day. But the reality is that you grieve forever. You never ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you learn to live with it. You heal and you try to rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. Whatever happens to you, the loss is always there. It's a part of you. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you ever want to be.

Every year when I write this letter to you, I find myself wondering what I want to say to you. In the past, I think I've been overwhelmed by feelings of grief, sorrow, depression, and loss.  But I think this year, instead of grieving, I'm going to choose the path of gratitude. 

Thanks for being such an amazing friend, Andy. Thanks for being a light that shined up my life. Thanks for being one of the few people on the planet who could always brighten my day. I'm honored and blessed to have had you in my life.

I miss and love you, Andy. I really do. And I always will. Now, forever, and always. You're the best friend a guy could have ever hoped for. 

All the best,

Pierre

 

Andrew Golkin, 1970-2001

 

P.S. The Mets won. 

Comments

[DefendUSA]

Nope. We never get "over" it. My friend Mike will always be 25 and he would surely be texting me...but only when he would be pissed!😀 it's been thirty years and whenever "Don Hensly" Boys of Summer plays I think of him and how cute his kids would be and how much I despised his pirrhana fish...Our shaving cream fight in the barracks was epic!
Our love and longing is bittersweet.

[Devra]

I sm here, as I have been, bearing witness. Love to you,Pierre.

[Melissa]

I read you blog years ago. I wanted to stop in again today because i always remember you and your friend Andy on this day. I'm still sorry for your loss.

[Renee K Barrera]

Beautiful, I'm sure he loves to hear what you have to say. I'm glad it's gone from, grief, sorrow, depression and loss to gratitude!
Andy would be happy too.

[Laura Mayes]

Love.

[Raymond Lee]

Reading this annual letter to your friend Andy always brings me back to that morning. When it happened, I was kind of just alert and since I didn't know anyone who passed, I just felt an overall sadness, but nothing focused. I always avoided to tell people I understand how they feel when experiencing this kind of loss because in reality, I didn't.

A few years after, when I watched that Nicolas Cage 9/11 movie, I found myself breaking down, balling my eyes out when the shadow of the plane appeared on the screen. I chalk up all those years between these two events as my brain's defensive mechanism. The scene was like a key to the flood gates.

While I vividly remember every detail about where I was when it happened... Even hearing the sound of the first plane crashing into the tower from my living room window, I don't think I can ever shake the overwhelming sadness when I relived that moment when watching that movie.

In a way, I feel like I everytime I come here on 9/11, I am indirectly sharing some of the pain that everyone has felt and still feels. As I am typing this comment on the ferry on my way to work, I see several FDNY men in uniform, probably heading towards the WTC for some ceremony. I choked up a bit.

Anyway, thanks for sharing. I come here every year to read this and in a way, helps me.

-ray lee

[sarah]

Thank you for sharing this. Beautiful reminder and tribute. Miss your blog!

[Julie Forward]

Thank you for coming back every year to write this!!! I did not lose anyone I knew personally on 911, but I had a dear friend shy & killed in the Long Island Railroad shooting by Colin Ferguson so I truly relate to losing a loved one so suddenly and unexplainably. ❤️ Miss you always sweet Amy!!

[Julie Forward]

Shot not shy.

[Linda]

Damn it, Pierre. Every year, this gets me choked up. Every year.
Beautiful letter.

[Maggie]

Every year. I go about this day, remembering and reading stories...and coming here to read your letter to Andy. Thank you for sharing your journey of grief and healing with us.

[MetroDude]

And yet, turning the tables, I think of how proud Andy would be of YOU, and how your life and your new family would bring him such joy, and how much you have grown, evolved and thrived since the days when you were etching your thoughts in TypePad about the fears of new fatherhood or what it meant to be a single dad. What a life you have led, and what journeys you have taken. Your annual tribute to Andy is so dear, and thanks as always for sharing, PK.

[Jenny]

Thank you for writing and sharing your letters to Andy every year. I come here every year to read it.

[dana michelle]

Pierre, I always have to come here to read your yearly tribute to Andy, and you never disappoint. I'm so sorry you had to suffer the loss of such a dear and wonderful friend.

Driving in to work this morning I saw that someone had hung a flag on the freeway overpass, and I got all choked up and teary, flooded with the memory of staring at my TV in disbelief at what was unfolding out East and the numb drive in to work that followed 14 years ago.

Thank you for your tribute, and God's peace to you today, my friend. Also, hope your back issues clear up soon - you are right - getting old does suck at times :) Please write again and let us know what's going on in your life these days. I think I can speak for all your readers here in saying we miss you and your offbeat observations on life.

[Julie G]

Once again, I am moved by your words to your friend. You were on my mind yesterday on my drive home. Everyone should have at least one friendship in their life like you & Andy had. I'm sorry it ended way too soon.

Thank you for pouring your heart out in your letter. I hope your memories of Andy bring you peace, Pierre.

Sending my love from Baton Rouge ❤️

Julie

[Natalie]

I return to this page on this date every year to mourn, celebrate, contemplate. Thank you and God bless the memory of your friend.

[Maya]

Either bring back your blog or write a book. I miss reading you!

[Liz]

Like many of the other commenters, I remembered you this morning, and I retyped in your URL to read and soak in the grief and memories, for no life is untouched by tragedy. I think I started reading your blog very early on, within the first few years, as a college student just a few years removed from getting the news in the middle of 10th grade English class.

The time has flown by but seems to stand still every September 11th.

Thank you for continuing to share your letters.

[Breanne]

I continue the echo of the commenters that think of you, and think of Andy, every year and come to read your letter and check in. Over the several years of letters, I feel like I've come to know Andy. Thank you for sharing your friendship with us. My thoughts are with you today. <3

[J]

Thank you for your letter to Andy. We lost our friend Carlton Bartels at Cantor Fitzgerald, too. It was a large group, so I don't know if they knew each other. But thank you.

[dave]

Dear MetroDad,
We've never met. I somehow came across your blog and followed your for a few years. I just want to tell you that your beautiful letters to Andy have become part of my own 9/11 rituals of remembrance. Your gratitude comes through brightly--it always has. I only "know"Andy through your blog, but I'd be willing to bet that he'd be grateful to you for your loyalty and friendship as well. Be well.
Thank you sharing your friendship with all of us.

[james]

Every year I think I know what you may say. Every year I am wrong. Every year it is what I need to hear.

[Audrey Mangan]

Your brother was a kind good person when I knew him briefly at RCS during the 7th and 8th grade. I always remember him, especially during 9/11. When I scanned the list of the missing, my heart dropped when I saw his name. You are right - it was awful and unnatural and I don't think there is a "correct" way to process this grief. I appreciate your willingness to share this with the world.

[Linda Vermeulen]

Oh man. I look to this post every year. It's been a long time following you. I'm sorry for your loss.

[Taly]

Every year i wait for your post on how to reconcile the loss of a friend who was offed at his prime. And as we go through our ministrations in life we wonder if he would've gone through the same
Perhaps he was one of the lucky ones who left life when the world lay in front of him like a luscious buffet overflowing with options.
Such a wise soul who never got to partake in all of those options offered perhaps ultimately for the best? Or in such a short life he already made his mark On so many And maybe that was the point of all of it
Mission compete peace out. For that IS The true meaning to life

[CW]

I've missed your writings, but know I can always check in here on 9/11.

I have that day etched in my memory. I was living in Westchester county. And from the top floor of my husband's work, we could see the skyline in the distance, and the plume of smoke and dust, sadness, grief, and all of it.

One can never forget.

[AmyB]

Hi Metrodad-- I went to the 9/11 Museum today. I looked up Andy in the remembrance room and said a prayer for him... and you. Thanks for sharing your and his story. It's very meaningful, even for a stranger.