If Andrew Were a Pixie

 This last Christmas, I opened a letter with a request that caused my heart to skip a beat as I was reading it.   The letter was from a woman named Suzanne.  She asked if I would consider creating a faerie in memory of her son Andrew who had recently passed away. A daunting request I was not sure I wanted to take on.  But sitting nearby on my desk, looking at me as I was reading her letter, was a sweet little sculpted head who appeared quite unannounced from my clay and hands just before Christmas.  Well, that face was to become her Pixie.  Already there a'waiting. Because of that face, I said "yes".      
I asked Suzanne to tell me some things about Andrew to help me personalize this doll.  What she sent profoundly touched my heart. And that is why I wanted to add three of her stories to my blog. With her permission and in his mother's own words, I would like to introduce you to (Pixie) Andrew...   

 I have a son whose name is Andrew.  Andrew is 15.  I mention him now because you may hear other things about him in the coming year.  My job as President Elect is to bring inspiration to our in-service.  And I have to say that Andrew is one of the most inspiring people in my life.  So today I would like to share an inspiring 'Andrew Story'.  By the way - Andrew has Down Syndrome.  I woke up the other morning as I usually do; slightly disoriented - blindly searching for coffee and the shower, in that order.  After partaking of both I was mostly awake and getting ready for the day; feeling distracted and caught up with the mundane process of preparing myself for work, mentally girding my loins for the drive I really don't like and thinking of things I had to do once I got to work.  I went in to my son's room and told him it was time to get up.  As I left his room I heard his first words of the morning.  He said, "I love to be alive."  And I was stopped in my tracks.  I could not remember the last time I felt truly grateful for the day.  This incident has given me a lot of food for thought.  That I spend so much time getting through my life that I frequently forget to live it.  That I let the day ahead grab me before I give thanks that there is a day ahead.  That children like Andrew are blessed with a unique perspective available to everyone but vouchsafed to very few.  And that I am blessed to share this life with one of these children. 




 
One of the things my son Andrew says all the time is "I love to be me".  So when he told me the other day that he wanted to be me, I said, "Why?  So you can be my mom?"  He said, "No, of course not.  So I can be mine own mom."  Apparently being Andrew is so great that he wants to experience it from another perspective.  All this sounds quite cute and precocious until you realize:  Andrew is 15 and has the mentality of a 7 year old.  Academically he will probably not go beyond that.  He is short and very fat (although he does believe that his stomach is one of his greates assets).  He wears fairly thick glasses.  It is immensely unlikely that he will ever earn more than minimum wage - if that.  Most likely he will not marry and maybe not even have a girlfriend.  (Although I pray he will at least have a girl friend.)  He will never have children.  I don't think he will ever ride a bike, let alone drive a car.  Every person in this room has more ability, more money, more friends, a better job and a brighter future than Andrew will ever have.  But how many of us can say, "I love to be me"?  And why can Andrew say it?  I think it is because he takes the days, events, and people in his life and turns it all into a celebration.  He laughs a lot.  He sings all the time and even though it would not sound great or even probably good to anyone else, Andrew says to me, "I'm a good singer, huh, Mom?"  And I have to agree that he is.  Because what he lacks in voice, he more than makes up for with heart.         New Mexico - 1996 Since Andrew was about 3 years old, he has consistently told me that Jesus is his Dad.  This makes for some very interesting conversations. One day when he was about 9 years old, as we were driving in the car, Andrew looked out the windshield up into the sky.  Then he said, "That is where my Dad lives.  He misses me.  He wants me to come home."  I was a bit startled and asked him, "Are you going to go home to your Dad?"  He just said, "Yes."  Of course my next question had to be, "When are you going home to see your Dad?"  His answer was, "When God tells me to."  Since then I have thought about that answer quite a bit.  Such a straight forward, peaceful answer.  No questions.  No fear.  Death is not an unknown quantity to Andrew, as it is to me and so many others.  Death is going home.  And you just go when God tells you it is time.  Where I question and wonder and sometimes fear, Andrew just knows.  His Dad is missing him and waiting for him.  Coming back home from a long and sometimes arduous trip is such a relief.  Back in familiar surroundings.  And it is so much nicer when love waits at home for you, ready to hear about your trip; ready to wipe away your tears; ready to share your laughter; ready to wrap love around you and hold you close - so pleased that you have reunited.  How different would our time here be if we just "knew" with complete and infailing faith, that Jesus is at home waiting for us to come back from our journey.  And God made the travel arrangements so we go home when the trip is over.  We go home where love is waiting to welcome us back.  
     
Andrew left for his heavenly Home a year ago this February at the age of 21. As I was finishing up on the details of this little Pixie's costume,  a jewelry piece at our local variety store caught my eye.  A small heart with some words on it.  Upon reading it, I thought that adding a written sentiment to this doll was further than I should artistically venture.   But that heart kept coming to mind.  So I wrote to Andrew's mother that night and asked her about the sea.  Did Andrew have a connection to the sea? She said no.   But before Andrew was born, Suzanne would visit the sea to allow the waves to wash away her anxieties and carry them away, leaving her soul refreshed and clean.      My husband drove back to the store first thing the next morning to buy that heart.God works in wondrous ways... 

  
It is hard to see in the pictures, but in the left eye of this child, a small pool of gloss dried just at the bottom edge of the eyelid.  Probably because of the way his head was inadvertantly tilted when the gloss was drying.  But at first glance it appears to be a welled up tear there.  The scriptures say all our sorrows will be gone in heaven...so maybe this is a tear he is carrying for his mother.

    
Over the course of this remarkable dollmaking journey, I have come to know and love Suzanne and Andrew.  I count her as a new friend and hope to work together with her this year collaborating on a faerie story or two to be illustrated with my dolls. And especially I wanted to share this experience with you all, and so hope you will have the time to read every insightful word Suzanne has written. It is a priviledge to know both of them. much love, Rose