The day after Ian died is very much a blur. I don’t remember when I woke. I know it was early. I’ve had to piece the day together from looking at text histories and other things.
Early in the morning, on the suggestion of a friend, I decided I needed to carry around some carrot juice, since eating wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities. Nor did I think I’d actually be able to hold much down, as even thinking about food made me want to puke. Another friend was kind enough to bring me a couple bottles on her way to work.
Mid-morning, I met up with his sister. We talked a good deal and she told me that she was fine with me going back to his house. I offered to clean things up if they needed to be cleaned. She told me I shouldn’t have to do that. I countered that I’d already seen the worst, so better me than anyone else.
I left her around noon and went over to his place. There was no mess to clean up aside from the instruments he’d used to do it. I took those out. Hid them in my car, so when his parents and sister came, they wouldn’t be confronted with them. I took pictures of his place as it was. I wanted to remember everything.
I changed the garage code on his garage door, because his sister had expressed that she didn’t want anyone else getting in, and I knew that other people knew it.
I laid on his bed, smelling his smell. Sat on his couch. Tried unlocking his phone. Tried logging into his computer. All unsuccessfully. I wanted to do the best friend thing and make sure there wasn’t anything on them that would be embarrassing.
I called upon a friend/co-worker to help shovel his walk and driveway. I met up with another friend, who is also a pastor, who wanted to see the house, see everything. (Ian’s sister had approved of this.) He wandered through the house, poring over receipts, trying to find clues. He found few, but reconstructed in his mind the final few minutes before Ian sat down to die. His reconstruction made sense to me. Still does.
After the snow/ice was cleared, the clues found (and not), the implements removed, I left. I don’t recall what I did. Probably met up with more friends. I didn’t want to be alone.
His parents were flying in that night. My mom was going to be driving up the next day. I coordinated with his sister to start talking about the memorial. I remember being very unsure how his family would react still. His sister had been loving and accepting up until that point, but I was a virtual stranger to them, so I felt that it was a very real possibility that I was going to be shut out very soon.
I met up with some friends to talk with them. I made Barriques, a local coffee shop, my home base, kind of. I think it was a safe space, because while it was where he and I first kissed, he hated it. (coffee shop)
Once I saw other people doing so, I changed my profile picture on Facebook. Changed my header photo too.
I was texting people all the time. Emailing. Facebook messaging. Social media was a lifeline to people, to not going crazy.
I drank about half the bottle of carrot juice. I think that was one serving. I met up with more friends that evening, to talk. They bought me a bagel. I ate some of the innards from one half of it.
Went home that night and went to sleep eventually. Slept well again, if not long. I didn’t have dreams. I think that surprises me. I guess I expected to dream… have nightmares… something. I guess my brain was too shocked still.
Day two is still a blur in my mind. I will probably never remember it well. I think I’m ok with that.
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