Another Sunday letter:

Ian,

Today is Father’s Day. This holiday never had much to offer me, but I know you would have done something with your dad. I feel for him, though I haven’t talked to him much. I didn’t want to push myself into his life, because I may be an uncomfortable reminder or something. I hope he’s spending  the day with your sister and his grandchildren. I assume so.

Friday night was a birthday gathering. You and I went together last year. It was nice. Calm. I had to go away from the group for a bit though. Went to the opposite side of the house and cried. When you were around, I always felt at least somewhat comfortable. Even if I didn’t know much of anyone in the group. Without you, things seem harder. I feel out of place. Weird. Even though the hosts were awesome, and I adore them, I still felt off. Maybe because of the new person I am… but I think I would have felt that way even if you were still alive and just not there.. I remember a similar feeling at New Year’s, when you told me you were with your family, so I went to their place for their shindig. It was fun, but I missed you. The best part of that night for me was when I left their party and went to your house.

I woke up this morning, and wanted to hear your voice again. I still have a couple videos I took, and a voicemail from March last year. I listened to them. I miss your voice. I remember telling you how much I loved it, how much I enjoyed how deep it got occasionally. And I remember a time when we were cuddling, my head on your chest, and you, for no reason I could discern except that you knew I loved it, started humming really low and deep. It was lovely.

I can’t begin to tell you how deep this goes. How hurt I am. I wish I could have stopped you. I wish you would have let me know where you were. I say this CONSTANTLY, and I feel like I’m getting boring with the repetition, but I would have done anything for you. I still think about the weekend before you did it. Think about things I could have done differently. Things I had no reason to do differently at the time, but if I had, maybe I would have figured something out. I don’t feel guilty, but I do regret. There’s a difference.

I miss you. There’s no way around it.

This Friday is your birthday. I have absolutely no idea what kind of shape I’ll be in. It’s my last day at work before two weeks gone, so I’ll be very busy trying to get things ready, so maybe that will distract me. I’m invited to another birthday thingy, but I have no idea if I’ll be up for it. Maybe I’ll need the distraction. Maybe having people around will be good. Or maybe I’ll just be a mess and need to hide out in my house and be alone, crying. I don’t know. I’m dreading it, to be honest. I was planning on taking the day off of work with you. Being your ride. Trying to make your day as epic as possible, like you did mine six months ago.

I need to clean my house. Finding the motivation to do things like that has been nigh impossible. But I have to, since I’m going to be gone for two weeks. I can’t leave it a pig sty like it is for the people who are coming to feed my cat to see. I want to talk to you. To just hang out. Shoot the shit. Be.

That’s something that’s changed in the past week or so. The pain I feel has morphed… Where missing you before was all-encompassing, this knowledge that you’re gone, that you were so sad, that you’ll never be back, that you didn’t/couldn’t/wouldn’t think of me to leave a note or something, that I tried so hard… before it was all of that along with missing YOU… The scope seems to have narrowed (sometimes) to just this overwhelming sadness that I can’t talk to my friend anymore. I just want to talk. Not about anything in particular. Just talk and be together. Just hang out. It’s not any easier, or any less sad… just different.

I would have done anything to save you. Anything.

I miss you, you dolt.

-Iris

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