i can always remember when i`ve been happy, it`s clear, i know the day, the time, the hour, the location, the smells, the sounds.
sadly, there are massive chunks of my childhood, adolence and young adulthood missing. i have a lot of memories about ian.
i met ian in 1992, shortly after i got settled at my first advertising agency gig. he was the photographer most used by ad agencies at the time, he was also a big techno junkie and over that we bonded. his studio took the pictures of my first wedding, the negatives are still there i believe. i advised him on upgrades and outright purchases, we exchanged software.
when i quit my third agency job and vowed to forgo the industry, without another prospect in sight, he gave me a space in the corner of his offices. many hours were spent there talking to vic. and then he got sick, i wasn`t around, nobody was told, but i found out anyway, but he recovered and we were all relieved, ian was young, well youngish, young at heart. two children, the oldest one not even in her teens.
when i got back ian was in recovery, i did an invitation to a fund raiser party, but i didn`t go see him in the nursing home during chemo, i kept thinking, i went to see wayne when he was sick and he died. if i don`t go see ian, he`ll be fine.
he went home, much worse for wear and the small voice in the back of my mind nagged me, go see him, go see him. i did, he was small and frail but he was upbeat and talking about the new toys we both wish we had. i promised to go back and i did, he wasn`t so chipper, he was bed ridden, he was suicidal, he was putting on a brave face and i couldn`t i promised to go back but i couldn`t. this wasn`t the ian i knew. this was a shell.
i was sitting online one night and i get an im that ian just died, just before christmas too, i`d spoken to him on the phone, this is where the details get blurry, damn dark spots, i wish i could remember. he was talking about what he was going to do for christmas with his children. he didn`t make it.
i did the programme for the funeral. there weren`t enough. we were all there past employees, clients, friends, competitors, i remember a mutual acquaintance giving the eulogy and i remember standing there crying, i don`t remember who was standing next to me, but i had to get out, i couldn`t stay, i couldn`t go to the cemetary, i was already distraught, the sound of the dirt hitting the coffin would be too much for me. i left before the end of the service, greeting those that didn`t want to go in for fear of their own demons.
last year, my palm died and i`m restoring the address book from a back up and there is ian`s name, phone number, email address. all the details. i should delete them but i don`t not just then, maybe later. i do eventually, but he pops up in the strangest places, i reinstall yahoo and there`s ian, i never deleted him from there, or icq or aim. i still pass through the studio sometimes, but things are not the same. nothing is the same, then again nothing ever is.
i missed the anniversary of ian`s death and even his funeral, but i wont forget him.
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