One foot in front of the other

All I can do is put one foot in front of the other.  The smallest things make me think of Andrew.  Now when I talk about him, I cry.  But it's what we go through.  I don't think this ever ends.  And that's ok.  I didn't expect this type of heartbreak that comes with loving a child but I won't deny it.  Andrew wouldn't want everyone to be sad but I don't want anyone to forget what we know, feel and experience in Andrew.

Alexander Wolcott wrote the following to a friend whose child had died:

"One of the privileges of my life is to have known him.  Among the few things I'm sure of is this - as long as I live, as long as I remember anything at all, I will always remember him, not hazily, no perfume growing fainter and fainter with time, no mere formless glow like the setting sun shining on snow, but sharp and clear forever, like some precise and perfect masterpiece, a Vermeer, changeless as long as paint and canvas last.  And years from now, when you are old and I am so feeble I can just about walk and change brings us together in some town, you will be glad to see me and won't even have to talk to me because you'll know without any word from me that I'm still thinking of him with undiminished respect.  Indeed, that I cannot, cannot forget him."

I hope that's how everyone will carry Andrew with them.