I remember sitting in the sterile, hospital hallway, back pressed against the wall with my knees tight to my chest. My cell phone was pushed against my ear, hard, as if the closer it was to my ear, the more likely he was to come back. It was an old voicemail, just a few days old, and he was singing obnoxiously and with falsetto to me on the other end:
"I can't see me lovin nobody but you for all my life. When you're with me baby the skies will be blue, for all my life."
He continued through the whole song and so many times in that hospital I found a quiet place by myself and tried to find comfort in that voice.
Six years ago today the hospitals, missing Ian's voice, losing my best friend all started. Another rainy, September day, just like today, lead Mary, Steve and I on a trip to Pittsburgh, each silently praying that it wouldn't be his brain.
Last night as I told Ian how sad I felt with each anniversary, he said sweetly,
"That's why I love you. It makes you sad because you care about me so much."
Today does make me sad.
"Sorrowful yet always rejoicing" is my prayer. To have strength for the rejoicing, even if it's just quietly in my soul.