February 9th

Today it has been three years since my best friend died. The world is a worse place without him.

I’m sad that one of his daughters never knew him. I’m sad that the other has spent three years of her adulthood without him seeing what she was doing, and admiring the adventurous, optimistic way she is conducting her life. That’s too altruistic, though. I miss him most of all because I don’t have anyone to play with, to help me carry out impractical projects and unlikely plans. I miss him when I have to diagnose my own car-diseases and when the Owl and I really need a third person to hold down an unruly alpaca. I miss seeing the Owl interact with a genuine friend rather than the casual acquaintances he seems to have in his life.  I miss the lack of ego and the slightly skewed approach to life that made Andrew a good person to be around when things were not running smoothly.

Andrew made it possible for people around him to be better, nicer humans. It is a rare and special person that creates a nimbus of kindness and generosity that affects everyone in their ambit. That is probably what I miss most of all.

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