Let the memory of Ines be with us forever
  • 35 years old
  • Born on June 30, 1975 .
  • Passed away on July 2, 2010 .
Posted by Aaron Heuer on March 25, 2019
well Ines, i'm leaving Chicago soon.
I still remember the first time we drove into Chicago in the Uhaul from Phoenix. I remember falling instantly in love with the skyline and feeling immediately at home. We really started our life together in Chicago, we grew together and grew each other.
I've been thinking a lot lately about Trusting The Unfolding vs. Impatience With Unfolding, and with the benefit of more hindsight every day, every year, i realize that if i could go back in time and give us anything, give you anything, i would give you patience with unfolding, give us the clarity and solace and foundation of the safety in going forward. I would tell you that if we just keep living a little while longer, that every day holds the promise of a deeper connection to each other and the people around us, a better understanding of ourselves and how we relate to each other and others in our life, and the realization that we are not alone, that there are people like you who think like you and laugh and cry with similar personal stories as yours, as mine. I still have to remind myself to trust what is unfolding. i can't believe you've been gone for almost 9 years.
I didn't realize to what deep extent Chicago has kept you close to me. It wasn't until now that i'm planning my move to Atlanta that i'm realizing just how linked up this city is to you, to the trauma in me of your suicide. I still haven't figured it out, i'm still reflecting on what is this new room, i had never opened this door until now; to whom do the contents of this room belong, what does this room require of me - do i clean and organize it, do i walk through it and just look around, or do i just remember where it is and leave the door unlocked and lovingly walk away.
You'd hate trump. you'd be beside yourself at the political landscape right now. I think you'd have really liked Pilsen if you'd have stayed around. i think you were a hipster and didn't even know it, in that you were into good music and read interesting books and you got all the funny and punny pop culture cynicism and you didn't care about a lot of the silly bullshit mainstream folks concern themselves with. i think you would have come to peace with your extremely gifted intuition which bordered at times on clairvoyance but was a definite source of torment for you. since you left a decade ago, and despite the current occupant of the white house, there's a lot more people talking in elevated ways about taking care of the other, about spirituality, about connection, about mental health, about women's and immigrant rights. I see more mixed race couples in commercials, i think you'd have noticed and commented positively on that. racism and hate and misinformation and ignorance are still a part of it all, but there's a lot here now that when i think about it, you didn't get to know. like for instance last night when i was biking home from work and passed the building we lived in for 6 years together, i thought to myself, it'd have been nice to be able to call an uber to the hospital when they called me after your train attempt, instead of running down the middle of that very street yelling for a taxi like a crazy person. so, you're missing out on Uber.
And i think i was a young idiot for the entire time you knew me. I wish you could see me now, i think you'd be something close to proud. I think if the pain of your loss i feel is anything like the pain you suffered from from any experiences in your past, then you'd definitely be proud. because you'd know then just how big a success it is for me to still be standing here doing my life, trying to be better, trying to love un-guardedly, optimistic for my future, trusting the unfolding.
There's less of you around, you know. i keep in touch with only a handful of people that we knew together, and when i leave Chicago you will be that much further away. There are stories about me that died with you, that only you knew. There are so many memories of experiences that i counted on you to remember which i have surely now forgotten, and they have died with me. There are things you used to say and believe that i didn't fully appreciate the gravity or importance of at the time, but they've had staying power, and time has proved your wisdom despite your absence: be humble, straighten your posture, listen.
Nine years later and it's still too much to be cohesive writing about, impossible to be comprehensive, a futile pursuit to attempt to recount all that lives inside of the memory of you and is tangled up in your violent departure.
i know this stupid fucking website is right though, you are forever missed.
Posted by Deb Heuer on January 1, 2011
Ines was my sweet, funny, very special third daughter. We 'adopted' her as our own. We will always love her and miss her.
Posted by Aaron Heuer on December 31, 2010
it's new years eve baby.

    i think about you every day.

Posted by Lena Cage on July 16, 2010
Posted by Yolanda Vasquez on July 13, 2010
Your smile was contagious, and when I was with you I felt child-like! You brought something special with you incomparable to anyone else! I think about you all the time and you're my ANGEL!

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