Monday, July 11, 2005

My Friend is dying...

His name is Robert. He's 48, and it breaks my heart that he will likely never see day one of 49. He's 6'4" tall and currently about 135 pounds. He's a good man, as well as a gay man. He's been in the hospital, almost without break since March. HIV postive for over 14 years, he crossed the threshold into AIDS territory about 18 months ago. It's been an epic battle ever since he was diagnosed. One that, I suspect, he's grown tired of fighting. Some people would urge him to keep up the "good" fight but I know how tired of all this he truly is. He dreads hospital emergency rooms so much that he endured an entire day of intense pain, writhing around in bed in agony, demanding that I not call 911 before I finally ignored his pleas and called them. For some reason, one I can not fathom, he feels as if being sick like this somehow emascualtes him. He HATES taking all those damn pills every day but if he doesn't then he will die. Sooner, rather than later. I would, of course, prefer later, much later, but that's not my call. My friend, if you must go, I'm glad that you are in a place you love, and I hope that the pain and suffering doesn't get too intense. Before you go... one last time, just so you know and can take it with you... I love you.


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