MetroDad

Dear Andy

Dear Andy,

Eleven years.

Eleven long years since we last spoke the night before that fateful morning. Eleven years since your life was tragically cut short. Eleven years of a life without you.

Somehow, it feels even longer.

This morning, the anniversary of your death feels strangely unlike those of the past. Why is that? Does time really heal all wounds? Can it truly alleviate the pain that reason cannot? Is my memory really losing hold of all those cherished details that are so significantly and transcendentally important? Could I possibly be failing to remember everything about a person who was so much a part of my lfe?

Is this what it means to get over the loss of a loved one?

I spoke to your mom last night, Andy. We talked about how we wanted to stop using 9/11 as a way to mourn you. It's too painful. Of course we remember you every day but maybe we should stop using this day as a reminder. Maybe we should move on with our lives. Maybe we need to start letting go of the past.

But can we really ever? Is that even possible? How does one even do that?

I sometimes think about what if 9/11 had never happened. How different would the world be today? The days and months following the collapse of the Twin Towers brought out the best in people, and for a brief time, I felt as if we, as a nation, were united in our desire for peace, our respect for the dead, and our love of country. Americans came together without pride or prejudice, and the rest of the world stood by us in solidarity and support.

Eleven years later, I feel like we've lost something. America feels different. It's a fractured and contentious place. Perhaps that's due to the fact that this is an election year but I deeply miss that spirit of community, humility, and grace that swept both America and the world.

More importantly, when I think about what if 9/11 had never happened, I think about how much richer my life would be with you still in it. 

I imagine meeting you and Kyle in Central Park and tossing a football around before grabbing dinner at his mom's house. I picture you taking the Peanut out for an afternoon of shopping and ice cream on a Saturday afternoon. I envision us hanging out at the beach, cooking dinner, and having marathon discussions about life, love, and how much we hate the NY Knicks.

But most of all, Andy, I always see us laughing.

It's one of the great ironies in my forty-three years on this planet that, more than anyone else whom I've ever known, you were the one who always taught me that life was short and that we were put here briefly to enjoy it and live it as fully as possible. Whenever I was depressed, you were always the one to cheer me up. Whenever I needed someone to talk to, I could always count on you.

I was only thirty-two years old when I lost you yet, eleven years later, I feel that the lessons your friendship taught me affect me even today. You showed me lessons about life that I will never forget. You taught me how to be a father. You taught me how to be a spouse. You taught me how to be a friend.Your impact on my life will never be replaced. Nor will it ever be forgotten.

I love and miss you terribly, brother.

I always have and I always will.

Forever your friend,
PIerre

 

Andrew Golkin, 1970-2001

Dear Andy

Dear Andy,

This morning, I was walking around downtown with my daughter. As we strolled down the street holding hands, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with emotion and suddenly, tears started streaming down my face.

The Peanut looked up at me with her innocent eyes and said, "What's wrong, Daddy?"

"Daddy's a little sad today."

"Why?"

"Because 9 years ago today, I lost one of my best friends."

"How did you lose him, Daddy?"

"He died, Peanut."

You died, Andy. Even after all these years, I still can't get over saying those words. They sound so final, so cold, so dark.

God knows that you were anything but dark, my friend. You had a laugh that wasn't so much infectious as it was healing. Your smile lit up a room. And your eternal optimism could make even the most depressed person see the brighter side of things.

I still can't believe it's been 9 years since we lost you, Andy. After all these years, I still struggle to make sense out of it. How could life be so cruel to take you away from us at such a young age? You had just turned 30 years old. We were all so young. Our futures were so far ahead of us.

Recently I wrote an article offering advice to younger people around the age of 30. Ironic, eh? Much of my advice centered upon my belief that life is short. I wrote about how it's often said that before you die, your life passes before your eyes. It's called living. Don't let it pass you by.

When you're 30, you can't fully comprehend or appreciate what that means. They're just words on paper. Ramblings from an old man. But for me, it's more than a mere aphorism. It's a philosophy of life that I wholeheartedly embrace. More importantly, it's a philosophy I learned from you. Not only by being your friend but also from losing you.

To this day, I always think of how you treated everyone so kindly and my friendship with you always reminds me that good friends are better than good jobs or good trips or lots of money or any of the other things that are stand-ins for what life really is about. My friendship with you helped strengthen in me the shapeless, nameless muscle one needs to nurture friendships. I’ve become a better friend to others and a more compassionate person than I ever would have had our paths not crossed. It's one of the greatest gifts that you ever gave me.

Speaking of friends, you'd still laugh your ass off if you saw us now. Life may change but somehow it still remains the same. "La famiglia" (as you always liked to call all of us) is still as close as ever. We may be a little older and a little grayer but, at the end of the day, we're still that bunch of silly misfits who love nothing more than being with each other. Russell is still the hilarious lovable misanthrope that he always was. Kyle and I hung out with him last week and we're still nursing a hangover. Roy continues to live in Miami but instead of hitting the hot spots of South Beach, he now spends most of his time hitting golf balls and changing diapers. Shary has finally turned into the endearing old man that we knew he would always become. Most nights, we suspect he falls asleep before his kids do. And since Kyle and I are now both single, we spend a lot of our time acting like we did 9 years ago. Need I say more?

But we miss you, Andy. We miss you so damn much. We think about you all the time and we miss you as much today as we did when we first lost you. Every time we're all together, we still talk about our favorite memories of you. We can be anywhere in the world and one of us will quietly raise a glass and simply say, "To GoGo." Without fail, tears will always come to our eyes as we take a moment to remember how much we miss you.

While memories of our time together may fade, our love for you never does. Truly great friends like you are hard to find and impossible to forget. And quite simply, you were one of the best friends a guy could ever have.

As always on this day, 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

 

Andrew Golkin, 1970-2001

Dear Andy

Dear Andy,

We all place bookmarks in our life to highlight and chronicle the passage of time. While some people delineate those milestones by happiness and joy, I tend to mark mine by pain.

When I turned 40 last November, I couldn't help but think back about those defining periods in my life. In retrospect, this probably wasn't the best idea. Not only was my marriage in serious trouble at the time but I was also having one of the worst years of my life. Between life, loss, work and family, it seemed as if everything was close to unraveling apart.

To make matters worse, some of my fondest memories in life were always of you, me and Paul celebrating our birthdays together. So naturally, the sadness of missing you always hits me especially hard during that time of year. Aside from 9/11, that's when I truly miss you the most. Even in the best of times, those memories of our birthday celebrations always cast a shadow of melancholy over everything in November.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I found myself in a pretty dark place.

During those tough times, I couldn't help but think about how you would never allow me (or any of our friends) to ever suffer in our sadness alone. Sometimes we'd sit and talk for hours late into the night. Other times, you'd make it your life's mission to put a smile on my face. Your genuine kindness and inherent generosity knew no limits. Was there anyone's face on whom you couldn't put a smile? I often think that was your greatest gift. Over the course of a lifetime, is there any greater gift one could ask from a friend?

It's still hard for me to believe that it's been eight years today since we tragically lost you. Sometimes it feels like yesterday. Other times, it feels like eons ago.

But no matter how much time passes, the pain never really goes away. It never escapes and truthfully I never want to it to. In a weird way, I think I consciously choose to embrace the pain more now because it makes me feel closer to you at a time when I feel like my memories of you are slowly starting to slip away. Sometimes it's almost as if the only thing I have to remember you by is the pain. Does that make any sense?

It's strangely disconcerting how time has changed how I miss you, Andy. For years, I used to painfully miss all the things that so tightly bound our lives together: your daily telephone calls to my office precisely at 8:00 am, the weekly dinners with you and Kyle, the serious late-night talks out at the beach, Sunday night movie club, those absurdly fun vacations all over the place, or all those long, lazy afternoons watching the Giants game and then tossing a football around in Central Park. 

Somehow things have changed now. The ways that I miss you are all so different from one another. Sometimes I'll hear a new song on the radio and my first immediate thought is "Man, Andy would love this tune." Or I'll see someone on the street and my heart will jump into my throat: not because the person looked like you did eight years ago but because he looked like how I'd imagine you would look now. Then there are those momentary pangs of sadness I feel when I stop and realize that I'll never have another friend who was just like you.

I still miss you terribly, Andy, and I think about you all the time. We all do. It doesn't matter how often we all see each other these days, you'll always be the glue that will forever keep us connected. You always were. There's something very comforting in knowing that.

Speaking of "la famiglia," we don't see each other as much these days. Life, work and children have gotten in the way. But man, you would laugh your ass off if you saw us now. Shary is the lazy, old man that we always joked he would become. We went skiing in Utah this year and, at one point, he asked me and Kyle to pick up his socks. Needless to say, all three of us were sitting on the couch together at the time. Russell is still Russell. Last time I saw him, he was going on a macro-vegan-organic diet, absolving from alcohol, and hitting the gym every day. Vegas had the over/under on that at about 8 hours. Roy has become fully Persian and continues to make babies on a near-annual basis but he's still the same lovable low-talker that he always was. And your old roomie Kyle is still the fun-loving single guy that we've known for years. Since Sofia and I decided to get divorced, he's alternated between being my partner-in-crime, my surrogate spouse, and my therapist.

So yeah...basically I guess I'm saying that although things have changed, everything still remains the same.

I know I always say that I won't cry on 9/11, Andy. This year, I don't think I'm I'm even going to bother fighting the tears. Instead I'll embrace the pain of your loss and use the time to remember all the many things that I loved about you and the many ways that you affected all our lives.

You were one of the best friends a man could ever have and though our time together was tragically cut short, I consider myself lucky to have had you as a friend. For that, I will always be grateful.

I will always love you.

And I will always miss you.

Rest in peace, Andy. 

Love,
Your friend Pierre

Dear Andy

Dear Andy,

It's been six long years since your life was tragically cut short.  Sometimes it seems the nightmare of 9/11 was just yesterday.  Other times, it feels like a million lifetimes ago.  I know I say that to you every year but, for some reason, the passing of time is hitting me harder this year. 

I think it's because when I look in the mirror these days, I see a man in his late 30's with a wonderful wife and a lovely daughter.  I see a man who has a serious job, a serious apartment, and a seriously large mortgage.  And while these truly are the happiest days of my life, the job of life itself is much more serious now.

Yet, in my memory, you'll always be that beautiful, carefree, fun-loving, 30-year-old young man.  The one who called all of us every morning to see what we were doing that night. The one whose voice could cheer me up whenever I was feeling down.  The one who loved life more passionately than most anyone I've ever known. 

Maybe the passing of time has helped heal some of the wounds of losing you at such a young age. Now, when I'm walking down the street and something reminds me of you, I can actually smile about it.  Or I'll call Kyle up so we can laugh about it together.  I guess that's progress.  Ever since you passed away, whenever something reminded me of you, my eyes would well up with tears and my heart would get a little heavier.

I still miss you terribly, Andy, and I think about you all the time.  Every year, I hope and pray that the pain of losing you lessens to some degree. I'm not sure whether that's true or not.  All I know is that the pain never completely goes away.  Life, for all of us, just isn't the same without you. 

As for our crew of friends (whom you always lovingly referred to as "la famiglia"), life has taken all of us on different paths. As a group, we don't see each other nearly as much as we should.   Maybe it's because we're all getting older and are busy with our own lives. But really, I think it's because you were always the glue that held us all together.

Most of the time, the only times we're ALL together is when a new child is born or it's someone's birthday. And although, during those occasions, we're often surrounded by other people, we always take a quiet moment to separate ourselves from the pack to honor your memory and grieve over how much we miss you.  More than once, people have looked strangely at this group of 4-5 men hugging in a corner with tears in their eyes, raising a glass in your honor. You'll always be with us, Andy.

Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget.  How could I ever forget all the great memories I have of you, Andy?  It's impossible. I'll remember them as long as I live. 

A wise man once told me that the best parts of a person's life consists of his friends and the memories that you forge together during a lifetime.  That wise man was you, Andy.  How prescient you were. 

I miss you terribly, my friend.  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.  But 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. 

And 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

Back In The Big Apple

BossLady and I had a fantastic time in the Pacific Northwest. What's not to like?  Clean air, beautiful scenery, and fantastic food.  Unfortunately, the weather is about as stable as Lindsay Lohan on a 3-day bender.  So while we did get plenty of sun, the temperature never cracked 70 and it rained practically every single day.

But really, Seattle and Orcas Island were fantastic. BossLady and I can't get over how nice everyone was.  So many people went above and beyond the call of duty to help us out, it was amazing.  Special props to my new friend Noel, the sommelier at Wild Ginger, who, after a brief conversation with me, not only went back to his office for an hour and typed out a personalized list of amazing wines he thought I would enjoy but also gave me instructions on which wine store I could find each one of them AND provided detailed driving directions from my hotel.  That shit would NEVER happen in New York!

Anyway, in exchange for your incredible kindness and warm hospitality, I now offer all of you Pacific Northwesterners my unexpurgated professional fashion advice:

(1) There's a reason that nobody designs polar fleece tuxedos or evening dresses.  As comforting as polar fleece may be, it really isn't appropriate attire for weddings or more formal gatherings. For that matter, neither are Crocs (in fact, there's really never an appropriate time to wear Crocs!)

(2) The only time a man should EVER wear a green blazer is when he has just won the Masters at Augusta.

(3) Unless you actually ARE a Hare Krishna, there's absolutely no need to dress like one.  (Apologies to the gentleman in whose coffee cup I dropped a few quarters. My bad, dude! I thought I was just being generous.)

(4) Personally, I use deodorant and wear a little cologne. You want to be different and use patchouli as a fragrance?  Cool. Be my guest. Just remember that the stuff should be used sparingly, like saffron in a fucking paella.

(5) If you're going to get a tattoo, go to a professional.  What's up with all the bad tattoos, Seattle?  Some of them were like stick-figure cartoons.  I thought maybe some pre-schoolers had opened up their own ink studio.   

(6) Corduroy should never be worn between Memorial Day and Labor Day.

(7) Men in kilts?  Wrong on so many levels.  Especially if you're not Scottish and you live in a city that has rain 360 days out of the year.  Clearly, any man who wears a kilt is beyond listening to my fashion advice.  You go, girl!

Now, I'm not saying I'm the arbiter of good taste.  However, I do work in fashion and although it's hard to believe, people actually do pay me good money for my opinions.  So let's just consider this a freebie for all your kindhearted generosity. 

Rock on, Washingtonians!

In other news...I have to say that one of the best parts of the trip was coming home to the Peanut.  BossLady and I missed her terribly while we were gone.  The hugs and kisses that we got from her upon our return almost made up for all of it.  I've had a lot of great experiences in my life but there seriously might not be a better one than having your little daughter run up to you with a huge smile on her face, jump into your arms, plant a big fat kiss on your cheek, and scream, "I love you sooo much, daddy!  I missed you!"

Speaking of fatherhood...BossLady and I attended a wedding Saturday on Orcas Island.  It was an incredibly heartfelt wedding with one of the most diverse groups of people I've ever seen congregated in one location.  I actually didn't know anyone at the wedding except for the bride.  However, on more than one occasion, I found myself completely engrossed in a totally substantive and incredibly cool conversation with several men. 

The topic?  Fatherhood.

Now, I've always believed that this generation of fathers is vastly different from previous ones.  Many of us today are more involved as parents.  We don't see parenting as a "job" or a "woman's responsibility."  We make sacrifices and juggle our lives in ways that I don't think older fathers ever did before.  And most importantly, we're more open with our emotions and we're not averse to discussing the deeply profound impact that fatherhood has had on us. 

At the wedding, I had some amazing conversations about fatherhood with men whom I had just met.  One told me about the enormous sacrifices he made to ensure that his children lived near their grandparents.  Another shared the devastating story of his wife having to terminate a pregnancy because of a rare disease that would have killed their child only days after his birth.  One man told me how he loved experiencing the beauty of the Pacific Northwest alone with his wife but that they felt something was incomplete because their kids weren't there to share the experience with them.  And the father of a four-month-old beamed about how having a child was the single greatest moment of his life. 

This fraternal bond amongst today's fathers is an amazing thing. I've become good friends online with so many of you who, on the surface, couldn't be more different than me but who share my feelings about being a father.  And more than anything else, that has proven to be the most important bond that you and I could ever share. 

Personally, I love being a father. It's become a major part of who I am as a person.  And though I may come across as a sap at times, the one thing I've come to realize about parenthood is that the only opinions in the universe that count belong to my wife and my daughter.  It's the reason I put underwear on my head to make my daughter laugh.  It's the reason I'll skip down West Broadway holding hands with her while singing cheesy show tunes.  And it's the reason my heart breaks whenever I see my daughter suffer.

So to all my fellow dads out there, happy belated father's day!  You truly are my brothers-in-arms and I couldn't be happier to know all of you. 

Friends, Giant Lobsters, & a Jive-Talking Peanut

One of my best friends, James, is not only a fellow foodie but also a very well-known restaurateur here in Manhattan.  We've been friends since the 7th grade and there's a good chance that our friendship was forged in the cafeteria discussing the culinary origins of that day's mystery meat. 

Anyway, to celebrate the Chinese New Year, James and I decided to organize a special banquet for 15-20 of our closest friends at Ping's Seafood in Chinatown.  Ping's is one of the most authentic Cantonese restaurants that you will ever find in the U.S.  However, some of the dishes take over 3 days to prepare so we wanted to set a date about 10 days from now.  We figured this would be enough time for people to coordinate work schedules and babysitters. 

Now, don't get me wrong.  I love my friends dearly.  However, trying to coordinate dinner plans with just ONE of them can be difficult.  Making plans with twenty of them is practically an exercise in futility and, logistically speaking, always makes me want to slam my head against a wall. 

To make matters worse, we all tend to share a very sarcastic New York sense of humor.  This morning, I sent out a quick e-mail to everyone advising them of the plans. 

Within 15 minutes, the following e-mail exchange took place:

MD: "Jimmy G and I are planning a Chinese New Year banquet.  We want to go to Ping's Seafood for an authentic banquet dinner.  Some of the dishes (like the 8 pound lobster, the winter melon soup, and the HK abalone) take over 3 days to prepare and you won't find them anywhere else in NYC.  Who's with us?"

Tulse Luper:  "Put me down for two bowls of finch eye stew and a dozen eel flapjacks!  And did Senor Ping mention whether they're still serving the pan-seared aardvark?  Also, The Doctor is requesting no-carb HK abalone."

James: "Just make sure Senor Ping is the one cooking on Saturday (by the way, Senor Ping is the chef, not the name of your johnson!)"

Meg:  "An 8-lb. lobster would have survived on this earth for at least 35 years, but possibly as many as 75 years.  He or she could take up to 15 minutes to die in boiling water!"

The DR: "I hear with a lot of melted butter, mayo and an adept use of tongs, it's not a bad way to go."

BossLady:  "Damn it!  Somebody help me!  I can't stop rolling me eyes!"

Milty:  "Some say that you can 'hypnotize' a lobster by rubbing the top of its head or its abdomen, thereby pacifying it before boiling.  Then, you press the point of the knife into the head and bring the blade right down between the eyes. This kills the lobster as quickly and painlessly as possible."

MD:  "I saw a bumper sticker that said, 'I love all of God's creatures...right on my plate next to the mashed potatoes.'"

Tulse Luper: "I have an 8lb lobster now and no matter how long I boil it..it just won't die."

The DR: "Take it out of your jacuzzi and put it in a pot, bitch."

This banter ended up continuing throughout the day.  Meanwhile, 6 hours and 20 e-mails later, not a single person has even replied whether they're coming to dinner!  I swear, sometimes I'm amazed that they let all of us become parents.  Shaping young minds, indeed!

In other MetroDad news...

(1) Today, The Doctor and I were talking about Britney Spears.  I told him that she shaved her head because she didn't want to get drug tested.  The Doctor retorted, "No way, man.  I was interviewed on "Inside Edition" last night and explained why that theory was wrong.  If they wanted to drug test her, they could have just taken a court-mandated blood or urine sample."  Turns out that the DR examined high-definition close-ups of Britney's head and speculated that she's having medical problems with her scalp.  All the stress and drug use may have been causing her hair to fall out in clumps so she abruptly shaved it off.

See, that's what I fucking love about The Doctor.  The dude doesn't know squat about football but he can discuss Britney Spears' head for hours. 

(2) Last night, I cooked up some mac-and-cheese for the Peanut.  When I asked her whether she liked it, she nodded enthusiastically and said, "High five, daddy!"  After we high-fived, she put her hand behind her back and, with a mouth full of food, said, "heemeeonhefwepsy."  I had no idea what the hell she was saying but she kept muttering the same thing over and over again.  "Heemeeonhefwepsy! Heemeeonhefwepsy!" 

Finally, after she swallowed her macaroni, she wiped her face, turned her back to me, stuck out her hand, and clearly enunciated, "I. Said. Hit. Me. On. The. Flip. Side!" 

Man, I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.  I swear...some days, kids are better than TV.

(3) Only 24 hours left until the MetroDad blog name contest is over!  We've got a few more surprise prizes to give away so go over there and put your entries in the comments section.  Hurry1

Dear Andy

Dear Andy,

It's hard to believe that it's been five years since you passed away.  In many ways, it feels like several lifetimes ago.  In other ways, the shadows of that horrible day are burned in my memory so strongly that I remember everything like it was just yesterday.

I remember in those dark days after 9/11 when I would call your voice mail just to hear your voice.  For months, I would call and leave you messages.  Tears would be rolling down my face as I spoke into an empty receiver telling you how much I missed you.  Eventually, they disconnected the voice mail, Andy, but don't worry.  I'll never forget your voice or the sound of your laugh.  In many ways, they're like the soundtrack of my youth. 

There's so much to tell you, my friend, that I don't even know where to begin.  The Peanut is almost two now.  Can you believe that, Andy?  It's amazing to watch her grow older.  She's a funny little kid with a ridiculously infectious laugh.  Her goofiness and love of life remind me a lot of you.  The two of you would have had so much fun together and I know "Uncle Andy" would have been one of her favorite people. 

Although the "boys" don't see each other as often as we should, we all remain very close.  Roy is still down in Miami with his family.  I spoke to him last week and couldn't help but smile a little about the grief you used to give him about being a low-talker.  Russell has his hands full with his little girl but he still lives like a rock-star banker.  You'd love seeing The Doctor these days.  He's traded in the leather pants for a plastic bib and a sippy cup.  He's a proud papa of a little boy and, if God has any sense of humor, the kid is going to grow up and become a total jock.  Of course, I see Kyle a lot.  He's still happily single and having the time of his life.  And are you ready for this?  Shar got married this past year and Sherri is pregnant!  Finally!  The wedding was out in Arizona and was the perfect time for a reunion of "la famiglia."  Needless to say, I spent a lot of the weekend getting drunk with your folks. 

Like every special occasion we all celebrate together, Andy, you were deeply missed.  You were there in spirit but I would have given anything to have had you there in the flesh and blood.  After you passed away, we had these little brass pins made for us with your name on it.  All the men in your family and all of your best friends received one.  Whenever we celebrate a happy moment together, we wear the pins.  Whether it's a wedding, the birth of a new child, or a small gathering, we wear the pins together as a way to make sure that you're still with us.  Because you are always with us, Andy.  And you always will be. 

I miss you, Andy.   I miss you terribly. The past few anniversaries of your death have been tough. But this year, I'm determined to not cry, mourn or bury myself in a bottle of scotch.  I don't want to go to any memorial services.  I don't want to hear about anyone else's losses.  And I can't even look at the television.  I just want to remember that terrible day by thinking about our friendship and what a truly amazing person you were.  You were one of the best friends a man could ever have and although losing you was one of the worst things that's ever happened in my life, I'm grateful for the time that we did have together. 

Rest in peace, Andy.  I'll love you and miss you forever. 

Your friend always,
Pierre