Andrew had been unable to eat for the last six months of his life, and as Tara told us, he really wanted us all to EAT. Oh, and there was an a abundance of food.
He'd selected a hauntingly beautiful version of Halleluja (by Jeff Buckley) and Lyle Lovett's Gospel-inspired "Since the Last Time" and encouraged us to mix and mingle and share memories of him with people we might not know. Tara led us in drumming, and meditation, and shared poignant and intimate details of their life together and Andrew's actual passing.
Martin spoke from his heart about their friendship, and gave us a slide show of pictures that brought back a rich tapestry of memories.
A young man - a patron from the library (Jethro?) - read aloud a letter he had written to Tara and me about Andy and his generosity of time and spirit.
Tara and Andrew's friend Holly read the inspirational poem "The Invitation".
I spoke - a little too quickly, and didn't quite get in all the details - but here are my notes:
The week before Andy left us I was staying with Andy
and Tara and offered to run an errand. Andy drew me a map –
It was a gorgeous September day, and I enjoyed a
lovely walk through the neighbourhood, looking at all the beautiful houses.I dropped in to the North Perth Public Library,
where I met Sherrie and Rebecca, and admired the architecture of the old
section of the building.
When I got back to the house I told Andy that I’d
visited *his* library – to which he replied:
“It’s a Carnegie Library”.
“It’s a Carnegie Library”.
“Oh”
“He built 2500 libraries”
“OH”
“Did you know that he revolutionized the library
system by allowing people to see and touch he books they wanted to borrow? That
before that you had to go in – like at the old LCBO stores – and right down the
name of the book and have a librarian fetch it for you?”
“Oh, no…I didn’t know that”
The
whole exchange was such a wonderful example of Andy’s Fast Facts
We – as a family – used to tease him about his
sometimes random outbursts of information. We called them: Andy’s Fast Facts
He had such diverse interests, and such a gift for
retention – and then there was this uncontrollable impulse to share. It should have come as no surprise that he would
become a talented writer, a gifted teacher, and avid blogger and Facebooker –
and yes – that he would end up working in a library dispensing and recommending
books.
September
1960 – my earliest memory
I’m on a train with my mother and my brand new baby
brother Andrew John. We’re travelling from Kingston to join Dad in Cornwall –
where he and another guy were building a bridge. I was two years old at the
time, and what I remember most was the bassinet that Andy was in: red fabric, a
metal frame, and white trim.
Fast
Forward to September 1976
Andy and I are on train again. I’m eighteen and he
would have just turned 16. We flew from Dharan, Saudi Arabia to Geneva,
Switzerland and were taking the train to attend boarding school in the Swiss
Alps.
In those intervening 16 years we moved around quite
a bit as a family. I counted - and Andy’s not here to correct me:
6 significant moves
8 houses
3 countries
As a family, we shared many rich and sometimes exotic memories – and family stories that only we could find the humour in, like when Andy lost his passport in on the train in Dommodosola. You had to be there.
8 houses
3 countries
As a family, we shared many rich and sometimes exotic memories – and family stories that only we could find the humour in, like when Andy lost his passport in on the train in Dommodosola. You had to be there.
And yet…Tara, I remember coming to see you and Andy
here in Listowel around Christmas one year. We got snowed in – and Andy got out
the family slides, which putting up the bent screen, and loading carousel after
carousel of typical family photos. I say
typical because I remember feeling a bit apologetic subjecting you to all that
Epplett-ness, and you told me that you have the exact same pictures: of
children’s birthday parties, of first days at school, of beloved family pets
(in our case cats), and of kids jumping off the dock at the cottage. (Andy was
a pretty awesome water-skier back in the day, BTW)
That
Swiss train trip in 1976 was significant – though we didn’t
know it at the time – as it marked the end of us all living together as a
family, and the beginning our own mini-diaspora – with me moving back to Canada
to attend Queen’s, Mike going to UBC, and Andy living in Minnesota,
Peterborough, Calgary, Kuwait, Japan….Nelson. I’m being purposely vague now as
I don’t have all the dates and places in my head – and if anyone could get the
facts straight it – ironically - would be Andy. From now on I’m just going to
make stuff up.
When Andy started his Transforming Cancer blog he chose not to use words like “fight” and
“battle” – instead choosing to talk about re-directing energy, and “dancing”
with Cancer. As a dancer – I teach and
sometimes compete – I loved the metaphor but had some difficulty seeing how to
interpret Andy’s passing within that context.
When we coach beginner dance competitors on what the
judges are looking for we warn against “out-dancing”
your partner – that is, trying to be better than our partner, focusing on
teamwork. I was thinking that Cancer had “out-danced” Andy.
And then I thought, no, Cancer wasn’t Andy’s
“partner”; Cancer was the floor. Believe it or not dancers find a way to blame
the floor for a poor outcome – it was too fast/slippery, or slow and sticky….
But I still didn’t think this honoured Andy’s dance
metaphor. So I started to think about a Jack
& Jill contest. A Jack & Jill is a type of dance competition where
you don’t know who you’re going to be dancing with – you are randomly partnered
up – and you don’t know, or have any choice, as to what song you’re going to
dance to – kind of like life. The universe chooses both your partner and your
music and you’re responsible for creating something beautiful – no rehearsing, you just
go for it.
Well Andy got lucky – he got an amazing “draw”,
meaning the universe gave him the very, very best partner possible – and
even though he only got to dance 1 ½ minutes of a three minute song – it was a
wonderful dance - full of love, creativity, and an inspiration.
