It’s been 102 days since Ian died. I’m usually ok now, especially at work. I’m getting to where I can concentrate for most the day, stay on task, all that. But sometimes? Sometimes not so much.
I was in a meeting today with the people he worked most closely with. We were having a generally good meeting, joking around, getting things done. Someone said something funny, so another attendee wrote it down, collecting quotes. Then she remembered that she had at least a few good quotes from Ian in that notebook and started thumbing through looking for them.
I desperately wanted her to find one, so I could hear it, but the meeting moved on quickly, and it never materialized. I also desperately wanted her NOT to find one, because it hurts. It was hard to keep my composure, because I was thinking about how clever he was. How much fun he was. And how there will never be another pithy comment or racy remark from that mind. That mind that I loved so much is gone.
I miss how witty he was. I miss that look of pride he got when he made someone belly laugh. I miss the sincere kudos he gave when I was able to do the same to him. He got so much delight from making people laugh, and it showed. I miss that so much.
It’s been 102 days, and I’m going to start forgetting that twinkle in his eye at some point. I’m going to start forgetting bits and pieces of him, and that terrifies me. He’s gone, and never coming back, and that is STILL baffling to me. And it hurts so much.
This is still incredibly difficult. And I feel like it’s beyond the point where I should be crying at people anymore. So I cry alone, where no one can see. I write about it here, to get it out of me. I put on a good face. And I miss him.
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