I still think of Ian every day. Whether it’s wishing he were here to talk to or remembering something or thinking of how he’d feel about something, it’s still every day.
This past week, I was staying at my mom’s place, house sitting for her. I thought the change from routine, getting to a place where Ian never was, might help, and I might not think about him. But I did.
I thought about him today because I was thinking about how sometimes people will like combinations of food made from things they don’t like alone.
Ian hated fish. He hated mayonnaise. Knowing that, I about fell over in a dead faint when he ordered a tuna melt on my birthday in 2013.
I looked at him, mouth agape, and he grimaced at me and said, “Shut up.”
I gave him crap for it for weeks.
Wish I still could.
Written 1/31/2015
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