Ah, my little Andrew, my little doodlebug. You should have been 28 now, instead of forever 6. You should have played little league baseball, gone to the prom, graduated high school, graduated college, and maybe walked down the aisle with your sweetheart. Maybe you would have had your own 6-year old by now, and I would have been a grandma. But you were like a shooting star; a bright light that passes all too quickly.
Everybody loved you in your short life. You had that effect on people: they just automatically fell in love with you. We all miss you terribly. Your brother and sister have never gotten over you. I can still feel what it felt like to hug you close. We still hang the Christmas ornaments that you made in preschool, with your little fingerprints.
Andrew Johnston, gone from a progressive neurological illness, Alexander Disease. Thank you, hospice staff and volunteers, that he could be at home to the end.