Today is/was/woulda-been pred's birthday. Of course, it should have no significance now, since the 3rd anniversary of his death is June 4th. I wondered if I should do something predlike, or something to remember him by. But then I suddenly knew that he would rather I be able to forget him... to pass the day in blissful ignorance. This voice... this opinion... I know that it is him. It is my memory of him, but that is all I ever had anyway. You only know people by how your brain interprets their speech and behavior. It's like etching chemicals on glass... the more you know someone, the stronger the impression... but it is still just an impression. Pred's impression is fading every day, but there are scratches that will remain in my mind until I die. Those scratches _are_ him, even if they spell out: "go on and forget me, get on with yer life dude."

Like a scene from "The Life of Brian", my mind repeats the conversation. I just wanted him to know that he was very special to me and to many people, and a very hard person to forget. But he half laughed, half cried the reply as I cradled him on his last night at home. The morphine pills weren't helping anymore, and the trips from the bed to the hot bath kept him up all night. In the morning his father took him to the hospital for the last time.

"MOnday 24th. My birthday. I go to Edgecliffe to get more ascorbate shot up me then to Randwick to scream at my oncologist. I can't walk straight. I think I will have to end the log here since I am perpertually weak. I am dying. Goodbye.

<predator>"

I suppose a quick death was the best present he could have gotten. Well, happy bloody b'day, dude... and I _am_ getting on with my life, but I still won't forget you.