There’s a quiet, tender truth we’ve come to understand: sadness and love are not opposites — they are companions. As my brother reminds us “never fear sadness as it tends to sit right next to love” — a quote from an intereviewee in Sahil Bloom’s book. Now, in the wake of losing Andy Burns — the brother, friend, and booming-hug giant in our lives — that duality feels more real, and more sacred, than ever.

I watched from a distance as Andy transformed my brother, Kevin, seemingly overnight. When Andy and Kevin moved in together at UVA, Kevin went from a reserved freshman into a confident sophomore, buoyed by a best friend who also felt like family. They shared sibling dynamics, the love for basketball, dreams, and a bond that went deeper than college camaraderie. Where Kevin stumbled, Andy offered steadiness.

Where tension rose, Andy’s unexpected humor eased it. Where grace was needed, Andy gave again, and again.

Standing at 6’8″, with that wingspan, an embrace from Andy felt like the most immense — instant sanctuary in a chaotic world.

Yet he moved through life with humility. We remember watching him play disc golf for the first time before Kevin’s wedding. “I’ve never played before,” he said, before launching one of the most angelic shots we’d ever seen — landing right next to the basket. He laughed it off as beginner’s luck. 

That was Andy: naturally gifted, and forever deflecting the spotlight.

We’ll never forget that hilarious night at Fager’s down at the ocean, shortly after Andy returned from overseas playing basketball. The three of us hatched a prank: pretend Andy was my new fiancé to score free drinks. I told him he didn’t have to say a word, then teased him mercilessly — “Oh, he’s gorgeous… but SO DUMB” — and he just laughed, nodded, played along, barely saying a word in English just to keep the joke alive.

That is love unguarded. That is trust. That was Andy — always down for a good time, never needing the spotlight to shine.

And for how big Andy was, he never took up too much room. He fit perfectly into every plan, every group, every moment. We always wanted him along for the ride, because wherever he went, laughter followed — and suddenly, everything felt lighter.

Andy’s brilliance, skill, and quiet strength were only part of the story. At his core, he lived with a heart wide open — steadfast in his loyalty, gentle in his love.

The bond he shared with his family was unmistakable. He admired his sister, respected his brother deeply, and carried a quiet, constant devotion to his parents.

And his connection with his wife? That was something sacred. You could feel it in the way he looked at her, how grounded he became in her presence. Simply by knowing Andy before he met Laura, you could see how madly in love he was with her — he came alive in such a beautiful way. Whether you witnessed it once or every day, you know their love is rooted in deep trust, joy, and a fierce kind of care that makes you believe in forever.

Watching Kevin become a father alongside Andy gave us all so much joy — and now, so much pain knowing he won’t be around to take these steps together in fatherhood. Because in every first step, every tiny giggle, every chaotic family moment, everyone will feel the weight of your absence, Andy. We know what your laughter and your big BOOM would sound like echoing off the walls. We can picture your arms, ready to sweep up a toddler into a hug that could swallow the world.

But here’s something I’m going to consider: instead of just losing a piece of our hearts, maybe we’re also gaining a piece of Andy’s, and it’s going to take some adjusting while it gets settled — for all of us in his wake. Because Andy was that generous, that expansive, that giving. And he would want us to live on — not just surviving, but moving forward. Loving bigger. Laughing louder. Holding each other tighter.

So treat your beloved piece of Andy like a seed. Water it with kindness, nourish it with laughter, and grow something beautiful in his name. Let his spirit live on through the way you show up for others, how you slow down, how you love. Andy is here — in each and every one of us.

I’m breathing in the grief and letting it remind me of how loved we are. Andy’s voice still echoes in us — urging us to hug those we cherish, pursue our passions, step forward with open hearts, and always make time for shooting some hoops.

When children learn their ABCs, when families gather, when friends laugh late into the night — Andy’s spirit dances among us.

So hug your people tightly. Say what needs saying. Laugh hard. Cry if you need to. Don’t hold back. Because grief isn’t a wall — it’s a doorway to love deeper than we could ever imagine.

ABC – Andy Burns Continues — in every gentle touch, every shared smile, and every moment we choose love.

Rest in peace, Andy. We love you brother.

Playlist dedicated in memory: ABC 💞