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About Andy
Andrea Lea Walnes, December 1972 – July 1991
PeopleoftenwanttoknowmoreaboutAndy,soI’veincludedthispageaboutherlifeandpresence.
From the moment I felt my daughter’s presence within me, I knew that this being was deeply twined around my heart and soul strings. She let me know early on about her strong mind and will: she would let me lie in only one position in bed; if I deviated, she would pound me incessantly till I moved back into it! In those days, babies were kept in a separate room after birth. Her father and I made our first trip to see her, displayed in her little tray along with the other babies. One of those was a very large boy with a lusty set of lungs he was using to announce his displeasure. The noise was amazing. Andy had been sleeping, but she woke up at this raucous display, deliberately turned her head toward him and glared. All the parents noticed it. I got goosebumps, and it was at that moment that I knew that a very old soul inhabited that tiny body. Andy at age three on Appetite, in Ireland EarlyYears
We moved to Ireland when Andy was only 3 months old. The Irish are “mad” about babies, and Andy became our ambassador to the town of Ennis in County Clare. The babysitters didn’t come to your house there; you took your child into town to the sitter’s house. Andy’s sitter proudly took her everywhere, and so when I went into town I was instantly recognized as Andy’s mom and gladly welcomed. Andy started riding at the age of two. Not because we encouraged her, but because she kept trying to climb up the legs of the horses we rode in Ireland. The stable owners let us use a pony named Appetite, and Andy, age 8, on Ebony. Presneboff right away it was obvious that Andy knew exactly how to ride and communicate her wishes. Later that same year she was going over cross rails! When we returned to the States, she rode a succession of horses till we found Ebony, her equine soulmate. Famous in the 1960s as a Medium Pony Hunter, in his “retirement” this black 13:2hh Connemara became a Pony Club mount, evented through Training Level, did dressage, and then became a Pony Club Games pony. He was another Master Teacher. Andy and Ebony did everything together. When she outgrew him, Andy evented various horses, but none were like her Ebony. Though she could certainly be cheeky at times, and that indomitable will sometimes caused conflict, Andy was basically a cheerful and optimistic soul who delighted in helping others, being a great ambassador, and standing up to right injustice. People recognized this about her, and so did animals. All animals were drawn to her and instantly comfortable with her. She travelled with us many times when I was competing, and she was always interested and very much part of the Mother Goose Team. (Jack LeGoff had nicknamed me “Mother Goose” because I was the only mother of young children on the US Equestrian Team, and of course I rode The Gray Goose.) We were inseparable. We all survived her early teenage years, and Andy and I were planning on working together when she graduated from Virginia Polytechnic Institute (VPI) in Sports Therapy. As she grew in stature and talent, Andy began to teach with me. She was a wizard at coming up with challenging show jumping courses, and in clinics would climb on the difficult horses to illustrate the training philosophy and techniques I was In Gawler, Australia, during the 1986 Eventing World Championships. teaching. Andy with Ebony at Training level. Barsomian photo. July4,1991
I woke up feeling like someone had kicked me in the stomach—that feeling of dread you get when you know something awful has happened. I could hardly breathe, and the feeling stayed with me the whole day until twilight when it suddenly disappeared. At the time, I was living and teaching in Lewisburg, West Virginia. The earlier horrible feeling of dread was a mystery to me until the police tracked me down the next day, in the middle of a lesson, and I was informed by phone that Andy was missing. I had to hand the phone to my dear friend, Annie Wood, for my world was shattering. I, who had handled so many disasters with dignity and was proud of my ability to hold it together no matter what, collapsed to the ground. All strength fled me, for in that moment I knew that Andy was dead. My brain desperately hoped that I was wrong, but my heart and soul knew beyond doubt. I heard awful noises, and realized that they were wails wrenched from the depths of my being. I have never before or since felt pain like that. Andy had been at VPI in Blacksburg, Virginia, with other members of her equestrian vaulting team. They were in training for the upcoming Pony Club National Festival in New Mexico. The team was planning to leave for the competition on July 5. To take a break on that hot July Fourth, they went tubing at a public campground on the New River in Virginia. Two thousand people were at the park that day, but no one saw anything untoward. Her teammates said that Andy was going down the river with them and then she signaled that she was going to shore with her tube. They acknowledged, and found their own ways to shore. But when they got to Andy’s landing spot, they could not find her. They kept searching until they finally called the police at the end of the day. For a week, I sat by the search encampment at the park. By then, I was back to functioning, but I was pretty much numb in every cell of my body. Friends came to sit with and support me, new friends joined them, and everyone searched and searched. The police brought in special dogs who confirmed the teammates’ reports of what had happened. The team went to New Mexico, and won their division with the music Andy had picked out. There is now a Pony Club perpetual vaulting trophy in Andy’s name. I survived those days because Andy’s presence surrounded me with love, peace, and the knowing that she was fine where she was. A poem she had written a few weeks before her death kept me sane. Another memory came back: I remembered that when she was very little, Andy pointed to a lady in her early thirties and told me that she wouldn’t live to be that old. At the time, I’d just blown it off, but now I realized that she was truly giving me a message. Though she never said anything like that again, her friends in college told me at her memorial service that Andy knew she would not live to be 21, and gave them messages for me. My faith, the support of my friends, the beauty that surrounded me in West Virginia, and Andy’s reassurances kept me living when I wanted to die. Although I continued to teach, I stopped all idea of competing. I couldn’t handle any additional stress. Andy reached out in visions and dreams to many—even to those who knew her only through the media reports of her being missing. She continues to have a deep impact on people to this day. On November 1 of that year, All Saints Day, I got another phone call from the police. A hunter in West Virginia had tripped over human bones in the woods. A black bikini was discovered nearby. They thought it was Andy, and dental records confirmed this. At last all of us who loved her so deeply were free to fully grieve. At one of her two memorial services Billy Hotchkiss, a young man who had only known her for a week in a summer course, handed us a poem he had written and shared in the service. He captured Andy perfectly. Now it is I who live in the spirit of continuing her legacy of compassion, valor, and kindness to all. Andy leading her Pony Club members in the opening ceremony at Rolex Kentucky in 1985. Phelps photo. Andy at age 16 on a mother‐daughter trip to Ireland in 1988. Photo by Kim Walnes. FREEDOM
At only certain times is my soul free
Unhampered from the burdens felt by men
The beauty of my soul I long to see
It’s hidden like the perfect mountain glen.
I climb a mountain high above the town
In union with the knowledge of my soul
As it soars high toward the final crown
My mind is ever yearning to be whole.
Whole with the angel’s wisdom and command
The road that is my fate is long and clear
I know I will receive a helping hand
To guide my way and help dispel my fear.
The great reward I face at my test’s end
Is well worth any challenge God will send.
Andrea“Andy”Walnes,1972‐1991
ODE TO ANDY
I knew her, but not well enough.
Her big cheeks were like two worlds on her face,
And in her eyes shone what this world could be like –
Happy and brilliant, hopeful, filled with optimistic dreams.
She was an infection, spreading her smile to everyone’s faces
Simply by being.
By being what she wanted.
By being an optimist.
By being the flame that started many people’s fires.
By being…
By being Andy.
I wanted so much to be like her.
To take on her attitude about life
And to embrace every person I meet with enthusiasm and love,
And to show to them that I’m not afraid to be me.
She taught me some of these things.
It appears, now, that I’ve got to finish learning on my own.
Though I don’t know you well enough, I miss you, Andy,
And I love you.
May God take care of you.
Amen.
BillyHotchkiss
Kim’s Retreat Notes from Andy, August 20, 2012 I’ve been reading Lowlands of Heaven by the Reverend G. Vale Owen since I arrived at Retreat on the th
18 . Despite the loads of books I brought with me, I was directed to the Beyond the Veil series, and brought three of them back to the Satsang Hall with me. Lowlands of Heaven talks about grief and loss and echoes Kathy’s message in Satsang today: that everything cycles, and sometimes the good times are the worst and the worst times are the best. It takes a lot of living to understand that statement, and she said it very softly, but I heard it like a bell. I do know what she’s talking about…. In Meditation at 3:00 am this morning, I reached for Andy, and she was right there: glowing, bright beyond ability to see, loving to my fullest capacity to receive. Wow. And from that Love came a message: That what we perceive as loss is merely a shift—to something far greater and more profound. It doesn’t matter if it is the death of a loved one or the disappearance of something material. Our grief over this sudden void in our lives can become a celebration of and a clinging to loss. If we are sucked deeply enough into this hole, we can allow the loss to become the definition of who we are. We have taken on ownership of desolation and made it our identity. Ummm, not a good life to choose, and believe me, it is a choice. I’ve been there/done that for a few years—make it 15—and it really sucks. Colors fade away, as does hearing and feeling anything much beyond pain and numbness. This shrine to grief within us, Andy pointed out, very effectively blocks us from receiving the gift that awaits us. The loss we experience clears the path for the offering to arrive, yet we go throwing blocks back in the road. OH, and in the same way, worry and frustration block us from receiving that which we desire. Hmmmm…. This is where faith and trust come in, she showed me. Knowing something in your mind (that your loved one is in a better place, or your greatest wish does exist and could come to you) and having the feeling of it in your guts are two very different things. Yet just as consciously smiling and making gestures of happiness can bring on that emotion, reaching out and opening your heart to goodness and love more profound than we’ve ever experienced can welcome those gifts right into your life. There they can become the foundation of your daily living, coloring all else with brightness, and facilitating the release of lack, loss, and misery. Our paradigm can then shift from protection, hiding, retreating, battle to opening, embracing, enfolding, including. Life gets much rosier! Could this be the cure for loneliness? The cure for the belief in separation?