Seems like it's the season to die. First it was Gary Meyerhoff, who I had known through Justice Action, and then met while visiting Darwin last year. Not totally unexpected, but a shock nevertheless. Then Brad Will, who had written to me about a month ago, asking for contacts in Oaxaca. Then suddenly, there he was, stripped to the underwear, stretched out on the ground, bleeding to death. I had hoped to meet him on my trip to NY in December. Now, I've learned that my ex, Jim Brightwolf, who I lived with 24/7 for over 8 years is in the hospital with cancer. He's now 70 years old, and this will be his third round with the big C, so nobody is holding out much hope that he will beat it again. We split up in 2002, with much bitterness and resentment. I think I did more than my share of looking after him, and so I really shouldn't be feeling guilty about not going to say one last goodbye, but I do. When he left Sydney, he wondered if we'd ever see each other again. I replied, 'of course we will'. I did try... we had a date to meet at the L.A. airport when I went home in 2004, but he never showed up. So now it looks like I'm going to be made a liar. I really can't bear to see another person that I cared for stretched out, weak and vulnerable, with the life oozing out of him. So I'm left with a choice between feeling horrible about not saying goodbye in person, or feeling horrible at having to witness death once again. So here I am, therapy blogging at 2am, just feeling horrible.