In no particular order I remember

• the ‘bandana’ phase when he loved music by ’50 cent’ and his later embarrassment at the memory.
• a little black dot just outside the cornea of his left eye.
• not being allowed to touch the shopping trolley in the supermarket when he was ‘in-charge’ of it.
• me teaching him to cook spinach and cottage cheese (palak-paneer) the Indian way.
• him wearing swimming goggles while chopping onions in the kitchen to protect his eyes.
• me trying to dissuade him from licking his plate after a yummy meal.
• him checking out his hair every time he happened to see his reflection.
• the hunt for a perfect double-pedal for his drum kit.
• him imitating my funny pronunciations and encouraging me to repeat myself.
• the Kindle he bought for my birthday from his ‘own money’.
• the Antonio Forcione music he introduced me to. Our favourite piece ironically called ‘Tears of joy’: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEwHoW1yCB8

As the days, weeks and months go by I feel as if the distance between us is increasing. I fear that I will forget a lot of things about him and about us.

Sometimes I cannot believe that I am still here, eating, drinking, working and socializing while he is gone. The world goes on as though nothing happened.

Life after suicide is bearable if we remember not just how they died but also how they lived.