In Memory of Andrew

Welcome to my imagination. I have an image of a finely woven silver thread. Think of a thread in a cobweb. This endless silver thread glimmers as it twirls out of my body. It links me to – I don't know what.

You have that thread as does the person next to you in a bus, in a shop or at work.

It appears fragile but is in fact quite sturdy. Or is it?

Does it connect your inner being (some would say your soul) to a superior being? At the end of your life is it severed and that is the end or does it keep a hold on your soul to entice your soul to reach a realm that we can only imagine?

All I know is that life is precious and tenuous.

Today I said goodbye to a young man that I know. Andrew was 19 years – he was a university student riding his bike to visit his girlfriend when it appears that 2 cars collided in a head on and somehow he was entangled in this.

This is an ode to you Andrew.

I remember you as a bouncy grade 8 (Std 6) 13 years old. You bounced into the computer room – huge smile decorating your face! Friendly but respectful. What wasn't there to like? You worked hard – you were mischievous – there was always a ready smile or laugh. At times you could be serious and have quite a mature chat. Your mind was inquisitive, you had to know why.

You bounced into the computer room in grade 9 – ready for the challenges of the day. Nothing had changed – the smile was still there, the grin was still there you were still friendly and respectful.

Grade 10 – it was just meeting you in the corridor – huge smile and usually a "How are you ma'am?"

At some stage you joined my dancing class – still embracing everything with vigour. Your mother was pleased that you had started to dance. But unfortunately other sports called and clashed with dancing but every time I met you in the passage – the smile and the "How are you Ma'am?" was still there.

Then joy – back to dancing - until sport intervened.

You visited the computer room to sort out school presentations, we chatted over problem areas, You were reliable and I could always depend on you.

Then it was goodbye to all matrics. I thought I wouldn't see you again. But soon you joined my evening classes with Talia. The two of you looked so good on the floor. You bounced into the hall and greeted everyone. You took a vibrant interest in all of the people in the class. Sitting and chatting to them as you waited for your class to begin – regardless of the age gap.

I saw you on Monday night. Grabbing your helmet – you took my one bag to the car. I hope I hugged you but I don't know.

I drove past you today but I didn't know it was you. I was concentrating on getting around the congestion around you. I saw your bike next to the pavement. I saw you covered. I think if I had seen your helmet I would have known. I was saddened and said, "The motorcyclist didn't make it." And rushing over me was a memory of my girl who didn't make it all those years ago. I felt for the parents of this unknown rider – I knew what they would be going through. And now I send love to your parents.

Andrew you made an impact on all who met you. I can see your smile, I can see your bounce, I can see your concentration as we chatted over problems, I can see your grace on the floor. Goodbye – I'm glad I knew you.

Andrew, there is a saying that only the good die young. I'm going to miss you.