Another Sunday letter. I’m finding these rather helpful… It seems there’s something cathartic about speaking as if he’s still here to hear me. I wonder if that will cease at some point.
Ian,
I’m spending time with your family today. We have gathered for a memorial event. As I was drinking my coffee this morning, I was wondering what you’d be doing were you here. I think you’d probably still be asleep. Then playing on your phone. Maybe reading the baseball book on the table here.
Yesterday, I heard from the reverend, our friend, who gave your eulogy. He’s had some experiences that I believe I need to share with your family. They make me hope that he’s right, and that you are finally fine.
Listening to music is still a landmine. Yesterday, I ended up crying my eyes out for a while because several songs we sang together came up all in a row.
Your mom’s cousin has told me that I should pursue my idea of trying out for a singing thing. I’m considering still. I keep thinking you’d want me to, but I’m also still angry enough at you that I’m stubbornly arguing that you gave up your right to have any opinion on what I do or don’t do. Not that it should matter. I should do whatever makes me happy. I have a hard time thinking anything will make me really happy… I miss you too hard. But maybe I should try.
I love your family. I am glad they’re a part of my life now. They’re making this bearable.
I still miss you. I won’t stop missing you, probably ever.
-Iris
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