My friend, Andrew Golkin

On 9/11, I lost one of my closest friends in the world, Andrew Golkin. Every year since that tragedy, I've both memorialized and remembered him by writing an annual letter to him on the anniversary of his passing.  

This year, I've debated whether to honor his memory in a more private manner. I'm not exactly sure why but I suspect it has to do with how the role of blogging and social media has changed over the years. When I first started this blog back in 2004 (!), I was always a little uneasy as to what extent I was willing to share my personal feelings online. The internet's ability to allow us to bare ourselves to so many people was somewhat uncharted territory.

Ever since the advent of MySpace, it was always clear that, to a certain extent (whether consciously or not,) the persona that we project online was merely how we chose to present and share ourselves to the world. 

Lately, the trajectory of social media has taken on a form of navel gazing that greatly disturbs me. Whether it's the plethora of people posting countless selfies on Instagram or the deluge of extravagant vacation photos shared on Facebook, we seem to have gone from using social media primarily to connect and build communities, to using it as a means of building some sort of personal brand. 

I could go on about this for days but there are others more intelligent who have written about the societal ramifications of all this on our culture. My point here is simply that, this year, I've really gone back and forth about whether I would write anything here today.  

That being said, there are a few things that I want to share on this tragic anniversary.

As I get older and make new friends or acquaintances, it's hard to contextualize to them how 9/11 impacted my life. Inordinately, when the subject of 9/11 comes up, someone will say how their uncle was supposed to be at work that day but couldn't make it due to a fortuitous dental appointment. Another will talk about how he was visiting Manhattan for work and was stuck in the city for weeks because he couldn't get a flight out. Or someone will mention how their mom's best friend's niece lost their life on 9/11. Everyone seems to have a 9/11 story. 

When this happens, I turn grimly silent until the conversation switches to another subject. Other times, I'll excuse myself and go to the bathroom to choke back the tears. 

Because how do you explain to a stranger the horror of losing one of your best friends? Of driving day and night to hospitals all over the city, hoping that you'll miraculously find him? Of crying incessantly every night with your closest friends because the longer you went without finding him, the greater you knew his chances of surviving were disappearing by the second? Of being thrown into such an overwhelming state of sadness that you didn't know whether you'd ever come out the other side? 

Ever since the 9/11 Memorial was built, I'd purposely avoided being anywhere near it. One of my (and Andy's) best friends told me about having a business meeting in Freedom Tower. As she turned a corner in one of the atriums, she suddenly found herself standing over the Memorial with a clear bird's eye view. She immediately froze and broke down in tears. The shock of looking into the cavernous area where a close friend had literally lost his life was too much to bear. 

This past Spring, I found myself walking downtown near the Memorial. I calmly took a deep breath and decided to go over and find Andy's name etched in the marble bordering the reflective pool. When I finally found it, I wasn't struck so much by sadness as I was of surprising calm. Over the past few years, so many people (both friends and strangers) had sent me photos of Andy's carved name, knowing that I couldn't bring myself to visit the Memorial in person. But being there and seeing his name for myself was strangely cathartic. I sat by Andy's name for over an hour just remembering all the great times that we had shared together over the years. By the time I rose to leave, I was simultaneously filled with melancholy and joy. 

As I looked up, I saw the Memorial inscription etched and surrounded by tile that marks the facade of the Memorial. It's a quote from Virgil's "Aenid."

I've written before about how, several years ago, I was watching Mandy Patinkin being interviewed by Charlie Rose and was moved by hearing how every single morning, he wakes up and meditates by reciting the names of all the people whom he loved and whom are no longer alive. He got the idea from an old Oscar Hammerstein quote: "As long as there is one person on earth who remembers you, it isn't over."

It saddens me that I no longer think of Andy every single day. There was a time when several times a day, something I'd see or hear would remind me of him. As time goes on, I often struggle to remember not only everything about Andy but also all the memories that we shared together. 

As Haruki Murakami once said, “No matter how much suffering you went through, you never want to let go of those memories."

I may not have all those memories but there are certain things I'll never forget. Because Andy was a truly special guy. He had a smile that could light up the room. His passion and enthusiasm for life were unbridled. You couldn't be in a bad mood when he was around. And if you were, he'd make it his personal mission to cheer you up. He was one of those truly special friends that if you're lucky enough to have in life, you never took it for granted. 

Every year on 9/11, I connect with all of Andy's friends and relatives. We mourn his loss and raise a glass in his memory. But, at the same time, I also always think about the fact that over 3,000 people lost their lives on that day. Spouses lost their soul mates. Children lost their parents. Mothers lost their sons and daughters. Andy's story is just one of many tragedies. I'll never forget that. Ever.

And as much as I'll always grieve over the tragedy of 9/11, I'll also never forget how, in the immediate aftermath, it unified us as a country and reminded us of what we stood for as a people. There was such an overwhelming sense of love and compassion that demonstrated our inheritable charitable instincts and reminded us of who we really are as a nation. Especially in NYC. In a city of 8 million people, the phrase "the kindness of strangers", for the first time in my life, took on a truly greater meaning. 

As Senator John Kerry once said, "Remember the hours after September 11th when we came together as one to answer the attack against our homeland. We drew strength when our firefighters ran upstairs and risked their lives so that others might live; when rescuers rushed into smoke and fire at the Pentagon; when the men and women of Flight 93 sacrificed themselves to save our nation’s Capitol; when flags were hanging from front porches all across America, and strangers became friends. It was the worst day we have ever seen, but it brought out the best in all of us."

In many ways, our country today seems more divided than ever.

Regardless of one's partisan politics, I'm starting to think that maybe we now need to take the anniversary of 9/11 to remember all the things that unite us as a great nation. Let's remember how we came together to help our fellow citizens---regardless of race, ethnicity, creed or sexual orientation. Let's remember that there's far more that unites us than divides us. Let's remember that, together, we can accomplish far more as a nation united than a nation divided. 

It was in that very spirt, in Andy's memory, we started a scholarship fund to help those less fortunate overcome any obstacles in life and strive to achieve greater things in life. Andy was a true champion of the underdog and incapable of passing by someone in trouble, friend or stranger, without reaching out to help. Over the years, I'm proud to say that we've helped dozens and dozens of kids from disadvantaged households realize their goals of going to college. One day, I'll publish a compendium of all the lives that Andy's passing has affected. It's more moving than you could possibly imagine. 

Our Andrew Golkin scholars are reflective of the fact that great things can arise from great tragedies. So today, on the 16th anniversary of Andy's passing, if you're here and reading this post, I ask that you help us keep Andy's memory alive by helping us help those around us. 

Donate here. 

Thank you. 

I miss and love you, Andy. And I always will. Now, forever, and always. I promise. 

All the best,

Your friend Pierre

 

 

Comments

[lauren slayton]

Please don't stop writing these. As off-putting as social media can be, real, heartfelt posts like this are crucial.

[Samantha Beinstein]

This is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing.

[DriverB]

Thank you for sharing today. There are a few places I check in every year to remember, and this is one of them. All the best to you and yours.

[Natalie Cash]

Thank you for sharing Andy with us each year. The horror of the day is unforgettable but so are the memories of the loved ones lost. Andy lives on through you, his friends and family, and now through the young lives of the scholars you have helped. A legacy that will carry his name for generations to come.

[Devra Gordon]

I am here as I am every year. Love to you Pierre. Much love.

[shelley]

don't stop, I appreciate this post every year, it is cathartic to know I an not alone in the feeling that unless you were right there, you can't really understand the anger and turmoil that comes up every time someone casually mentions the day. the lines of ambulances waiting to take the injured, but those injured never came, new yorkers came together to feed those responders and created hope that never came. i was at work when the first plane hit and then standing on broadway downtown when the first tower fell and the dust came. nothing can change that, and nothing can change the anger that came with the knowledge of what had happened.

[Kaz]

I remember the "good old days" of Dad Blogging.. I enjoyed it because it was a community. I still think of you this day every year. I read your post every year because it seems to be the .. not best, but .. a real way to remember that day and how it has affected the lives of many, many people.

Stay strong, my friend, and know there are people you've never met out there that you've touched (through this and all your blogging) and, as strange as it may sound, care about you...

[Gabrielle]

Every year on 9/11, I am confronted with recalling my own experience at the WTC that frankly, I no longer think about each and every day now that 16 years have passed. And every year, I make sure to come here to read what you choose to express about Andy and about your loss. It's become a private part of my own 9/11 check in. I want to sincerely thank you for allowing us to have this place to revisit. Mandy Patinkin's words really resonate: Please know that though the days of blogging are over, a total stranger you've never met, but for a short time came to feel as though she knew a little bit of you, will continue to remember both you and Andy every year for as long as she's alive.

[Bree]

I started reading your blog many years ago and every year now, I come back on this day to check in... thinking of you, thinking of Andy.

You've done an amazing job over the years sharing him with us and keeping his memory alive.

Sending love from California...

[Min]

Thank you for continuing to post every year. Every year on this date I always make sure to check back to your blog to read your letter to Andy. I was only thirteen when 9/11 happened. My husband ended up deploying to Iraq to fight the war because of 9/11. In fact, I found your blog while he was deployed. And while I don't think I can ever fully comprehend this tragedy, your annual letters always resonate with me and make me reflect back to my thirteen year old self. I hope that my daughter, now almost three, will never experience anything like this in her lifetime.

[Christopher spuches]

I read this every year Pierre. I'm in Charleston SC after running from Miami avoiding Irma. No power here. But got enough juice on this phone to read this. Thanks for your post. It is appreciated.

[Julie Guerin]

Thank you once again, Pierre, for sharing your love for Andy with us. Friends like him don't come around often, & I'm so sorry you lost him. My thoughts & prayers are with you as you maneuver through life trying to deal with this tragedy.

While I respect your wishes to honor Andy privately, I hope you know how cathartic it is to read your annual letter. Don't get me wrong, it's always read through tears...but somehow I still smile afterwards just knowing how much Andy meant to you, & the way you will never forget him. It's a reminder for those of us who didn't know anyone personally, to offer a moment of silence in their honor. Sending my love from Baton Rouge, Louisiana!

Julie

[Issa]

Every year, Pierre. Every single year I come here and read your words about Andy. I urge you to continue it. It matters. He mattered to you and so now he matters to me. One day I'll get to the memorial and read his name and it will connect in my overtired brain, because you made him real.

[Glennia]

Beautiful words, as always, my friend.

[Dawnan Hopkins]

Thank you. Peace.

[Allison]

I come here every year to read the beautiful letter you write to Andy. Please don't stop. I also made a donation. My thoughts and prayers are with you and his family.

[Jennifer Speth]

I read these ever year. Your tribute to your friend is always beautiful

[DefendUSA]

Pierre...
I'm sure you think of Andy every. day. It may be the sting has worn off. Remember, that although that circle gets smaller, sometimes the real tragedy is the loss of what didn't come. As you or I surpass each milestone without a person who made us each feel loved and cherished, we still mourn what wasn't whether it's a conscious thing or not. The upside is that I'd bet money all was right in Andy's world as it was in Martin's. We loved. We. go. On. It's what we have. Remember, as long as I am "here" I will be thinking of Andy! Your followers will be waiting because we don't want to forget, and you happen to be our link. If it gets to be too much, you'll know. I WILL still read the old posts because I can. ❤️😇

[sarah kahn turner]

I too was an early reader of your funny anecdotes detailing trying to survive the early years of child rearing. It helped me to know that although we are strangers, I wasn't alone in the ramblings of my internal monologue. I raised 3 happy, healthy teenage boys while reading your blog and I absolutely loved it. Every year I check in here and am reminded that it takes a village to raise our children and it takes a village to get through the tragedies as well. Thank you for continuing to write here. best, Sarah

[Linda Vermeulen]

Oh I love this so much. Every year. LOVE.

[Corinne]

Pierre, each year I come visit your site on this day. I don't blog anymore - and most of the bloggers I blogged alongside don't. But every year on 9/11, I know you'll post. And your posts help me remember that day - even though i didn't experience the loss you and many others did.
I come because you remember... you refuse to let the memory of your friend go. Your words reverberate with hope - of life moving on after tragedy - but mostly of love... and love is what we seem to be in most need of these days. I pray that somehow, somewhere Andy knows he is loved by you and he many others who loved him. And I pray that we all might be recipients of such love. Your posts remind me to love well... and I'm forever grateful for your words. - Corinne//twopinklines

[Jennifer]

I come to your blog to read this every year. Thank you for sharing, Pierre.

[Kate]

For whatever it is worth, this annual post is the most personal connection I have to anyone involved in the events of 9/11. That probably sounds odd. I live in Australia, and was about 16 years old at the time, so while this felt enormous, it was something that happened clear on the other side of the planet. I didn't know anyone involved, nor have I met anyone in person since. Stumbled across this blog in its early days through some happenstance I cannot recall, and each year am prompted to return.

[Dadcation]

I forgot to look for a post this year (as it's a) my wife's b-day and b) the whole city of Atlanta was shut down for the storm, so I didn't go to work.

I'm glad you published this; I'm glad you remind us to feel what happened 16 years ago. I think it's important.

Now, I'm gonna click on that donation link.

[Julie]

Every year I come back to your blog to read your words. Please don't stop...they help more than you know.

[Maggie]

Thank you for your words every year. I didn't lose anyone close to me, but that day deeply affected me, and I make it a point each year to pause and remember...because I know for so many people, after 16 years, it's just a blip on the radar. And I don't ever want to forget...it's our duty as Americans to honor the thousands of innocents and heros who lost their lives on that day.

I'm the one who tweeted the photos from the Beverly Hills memorial. Because of you and your unwavering love for your best friend, year after year, Andy is one name in a sea of thousands that I remember each year.

[Phil]

Miss you, too, and your exuberant blogging. Miss my blogging, too, actually.

[viv]

hello. i'm one of those from the olden days of blogging for whatever reason except self-promotion and exhibitionism. i, like you, have stopped writing my blog. social media has evolved to another creature, another life form. but i keep a bookmark of all my favorite blogs, and hope and wait, that once in a while, even if just once in a while, you pop back online, drop a line or two, and make me ponder, or shed a tear or two, or just smile...

hope to see you back here again. in the meantime, i'll hang around a bit longer.

[DefendUSA]

Pierre,
I am here. I hope you come with your words as only you can. I remember.

[Melissa]

I was thinking of you and your friend, Andy, as I do every year and wanted to check in here. I hope you are well.

[Julie Guerin]

I have not forgotten. Thinking of you, Pierre, and your friend Andy. Checking in from Baton Rouge, LA and hoping all is well with you.

[Katie]

I wanted to make a point of checking on the blog today. Year after year this is the best way to remember that day.

[Jennifer]

Thinking of you, Andy, and New York City.

[Mel]

Checking in this year, thinking of you and Andy's loved ones.

[Julie Forward]

Was hoping you would post. I understand why you may not.

[Christina]

Checking in. Hoping everyone is well.

[Jenny]

My thoughts were with you and Andy on Sept 11. I hope all is well with you.

[Darlene]

I finally made it to the 9/11 memorial today. 17+ years on and I almost didn’t go. But I wanted to see. To burn in the images that were seared in all those years ago. Because I’ve started to forget. I actually found myself almost dreading the “remembrances”. I don’t know anyone who died that day. But the pain still runs deep I went to see Andy’s name and picture. This yearly post has kept him alive for all of us. At the same time, I understand your reasons for not continuing. God bless you and your family as well as all those Andy left behind.