Jammin' with Ian

Baltimore Maryland 2026

Dear Ian – this happened to you 96 hours ago… at least it began 96 hours ago…

And, like our quirky, quiet friendship that slowly blossomed

during the rides home I gave you from Jason’s

during those early-morning-before-anyone-else-woke-up coffees at that gorgeous Pretty Lights festival Sarah took us to

while watching you bang all the drums and

play every instrument you picked up like it was an extension of your soul,

these past 96 hours have been just as quirky, though not at all quiet.

I woke up on Friday to my mind writing a text to you asking for your help moving some boxes and then having dinner over at Jason’s, my treat.

I finished taking Theo walkies and giving him breakfast and as I wrapped up our game of tug-tug with his toy dinosaur, Dino, to make the calls and write the emails and send the texts I planned to for the day, including the text to you I woke up thinking about

Me n Theo froze, heads snapping towards the the bathroom – the only actual room in what is essentially the long and open studio I live in – a light-filled up-in-the-trees space I’ve always wanted you and Jason to come jam in and fill with all that beautiful music you make.

That boom boom bitty bitty boom boom boom was so loud and fabulous I had to tap it out on the floor while Theo watched with Dino still in his mouth.

It took me a minute to realise I should go see what the beat was all about.

The painting I found and hung above the toilet in the bathroom when I moved in is one big brilliant flower blossom of reds and oranges and yellows, saturated and bold, seven petals cozied up to and layered over each other like puppies who know no boundaries.

All the colours of coral, separated.

I don’t know how hard a bang against the wall it would take to knock it off its perch from the long thick screw that its thick wooden frame hangs on.

But the only thing I had heard was the painting’s rhythmic plummet to the floor from its perch

It had knocked the plastic pot of baking soda sitting on the back of the toilet onto the floor along the way before flying northwest from the toilet to land just in front of the sink.

Four feet away.

The toilet cover was also down. It’s never down, but earlier that morning, just before I jumped into shower, I followed my strong instinct to close it.

I moved the painting, leaning it against the wall before leaving to pack up and run errands.

I went outside and opened up the passenger door of the SUV behind the driver’s seat to throw down a towel and get it ready for Theo to ride with me. But the back of the seat was down, as if someone stopped halfway through putting both seats down to use the back of the SUV for storage rather than sitting.

Those seats haven’t been down in months. And though Theo has many fabulous talents, shoving tight buttons and pulling seats down are not any of them.

I was only beginning to fall in love with the trippy morning I was having when the phone rang.

And I actually answered because I actually heard it because it actually rang which it rarely does, so on-its-last-legs it is.

It was Jason.

And he began speaking

in a voice drugged with deep pain – one that had grown familiar to me over the past few months following the car accident he was in late last year.

But this time, he spoke about you

and I had to ask

yell

as if I had to make myself heard over my own jumbled thoughts

WHO?!?!

I couldn’t wrap my head ‘round what he told me.

IAN??!!

I still can’t.

Your heart was so big and joyful and beautiful it must still be beating.

I barely remember Friday.

Except that your beautiful gift to Jason was delivered that night.

But Saturday? I remember everything about Saturday. Thu sun came out fierce and strong and we had a bright and shiny almost 50° day that diluted this bitter Baltimore winter we’ve been having.

I felt like a caged animal ready to bust a move.

So I packed up Theo and Jason and did what I do when my heart hurts and I don’t want to think straight – I took us for a ride. Down to Canton. We walked the pathway around the water and then walked the fields, still ice-covered but no longer frozen… fields we normally spend dancing around the hundreds of others gathered for WTMD’s First Thursday free summer music festivals. Shows me and Jason always wanted you to come to but ones your early-morning work schedule couldn’t accommodate.

I spent Saturday continuing what I had been doing since Friday morning – calling out your name, lost and slightly exasperated like you were playing a joke on us.

I know that was you Friday morning – Friday the 13^th you merry prankster – having a little fun with the painting and the car seat.

I know it was you that toppled the postcard and my metal mouth harp onto the floor Saturday morning.

I feel you. I don’t even have to close my eyes to see you. Just up there and to the right, surrounded by light the colour of the most perfect coral, the most perfect balance of pink and orange, and neon like sunset over the Arabian Sea.

You are laughing in your light and lively way.

It’s a laugh that says it all.

Just play.

So we did.

Saturday night.

Me and Jason and Chris.

We jammed with your last jam with Jason, recorded just last week.

But instead of diving into my usual hesitancy and shyness to make music, I listened.

To you.

And I heard you say just pick it up.

So I did.

And I kept listening.

Tap here, tap there, tap tap tap…

I stopped thinking.

I felt my way into the music.

And then, just like that, I was out of mind and into my heart.

I lost myself jammin’ with you. And Jason. And Chris.

It was magic and my heart remains full.

Even now, caught in the ping pong in-betweenity of missing you and having so much fun with this new relationship we have.

And when our jam was over, when Jason grabbed me and hugged me closer and tighter that he ever has, I felt family. And I felt family I know he misses in your absence.

IAN!!

I’d say happy trippy beautiful journeys but you’re right here, and there, and in my mind’s eye coral sky

so I’ll just say

love love always love