By Michelle Bell

The roll of aluminum foil in my house was always empty when my son Andre was young. I don’t know how it started, but around
age four, he started taking things apart and used pieces of foil to
put them back together.

I would say to him, “Andre, just use the regular pieces.” But he
wanted to make his own pieces with aluminum foil. He also used foil to make little army men, and he kept everything hidden in his
bedroom.
I finally exhaled to say, “This is my son, this is what he’s going to do” and allowed him to express his creativity with aluminum foil.


As such, I would buy rolls of foil just for him, the cheaper brand,
not Reynolds Wrap.


There’s an Andre story we all tell that happened on a Sunday
between church services. Often, we would go home between
services because I would have prepared dinner, which typically
 included mac and cheese – the kids all loved it — along with a
protein, usually chicken or ham. Everybody was welcome to join
us for dinner.


One Sunday, we had about four guests (my daughter’s friends)
come home with us. I went to the drawer for foil to wrap some
mac and cheese for a guest to take home – and there was none. I
started walking toward the living room and yelled “ANDRE!” He
took off running towards the sofa and hid behind it. The way that
the story is told by those present is that I lifted the sofa to grab
 him – and he took off running again. I eventually found the roll
of foil in his bedroom, and there was enough on it to wrap the
mac and cheese.

Life is extremely difficult without Andre. I think about him daily.
When sharing Andre stories, I sometimes tell about his arrival via C-section after he turned sideways. If Andre were present when I shared this story, and when I said, “What was he doing?”
he would always lean back, put his hand behind his head and say,
“Just chillin’.”


Andre was a sports encyclopedia. We would watch Sports Center
and First Take together. While watching the sports news shows,
we would have healthy disagreements about players and top
game moments. But ask him who won the Superbowl in 1996 – he
would know. Ask him who was the quarterback for the Browns in
any year – he would know.


Andre was very compassionate and had a big heart, often putting 
others first. He would give the last dollar in his pocket if someone
 needed it. When his sister would say, “Andre, I need” he did not hesitate to fulfill. If a stranger or new acquaintance at the corner
store was short, he would complete the purchase.
Andre laughed often and was generally the person bringing 
laughter. I miss hearing him enter the back door and yelling,
“Sister Bell” to get my attention. It was a sure sign that he was having a good day.


Andre grew up to be a fixer, handyman, and engineer for family
and friends. He assembled all kinds of things, bicycles, furniture,
toys, anything. The last thing he put together for me was a
 wooden chest of four drawers.
While working on that project, I tried to get him to look at the
 directions. I would get frustrated if the steps weren’t going in
order, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. He would respond, “OK, Mom.” Andre just
looked at the picture of the final product, laid out all the pieces
 and put the item together. That was his gift and talent. He did not
need directions.

I moved two or three times with the chest of drawers – never
 disassembled. It remains in use and will not be discarded.
My many fond memories of Andre – his laughter, kindness, our
sports facts encyclopedia, and engineer – are haunted by a split-
second event, a senseless act of gun violence that ended his life
and changed my life forever.
The new normal that my family and I were left to navigate is
challenged by grief and coupled with the pain of uncertainty
because Andre’s case remains unsolved.

Photos by Michael Indriolo