It has been three weeks since Tim passed from a heart attack, and I'm still struggling to deal with his death. My relationship with Tim was strictly virtual - weekly phone calls on Fridays at 7:00 p.m.    We had done this for over 15 years without fail.   Even when one of us might have been sick, we'd at least check in with each other.    We'd conclude the phone call with him uttering Dame Edna's "Possum" and I'd repeat the line from Mrs. Doubtfire, "Bye, bye, Poppet." I know that there were many who were put off by Tim - he had bipolar and was a handful at times with his manic mood swings and phone calls.   Even though he was under medical care for this with varying prescriptions for his mood swings, he would have his good days - his normal days.    And then there were those weeks during his 48th year on this earth where he talked about not making it through this year because he was fixated on Judy Garland and not living longer than her. Maybe I'm one of those people who has this veneer of standoffishness because I need to protect myself from the outside world.    Ever since my Dad read my diary when I was around 10 when I wrote about liking boys my age and having touched another one through his pants and grabbing his crotch like he did with me, I have erected that personal force field so that I dare not let anyone in nor to have to deal with torment.   My Dad told my 4th grade self that "normal boys don't do that."   I gave up writing anything about my feelings until I was in college during my tumultuous years of accepting my homosexuality and the nearest I've come to ending my own life. It did not make it easier that in later years I never fit in and was subjected to "smear the queer" ball game when I didn't even know what queer was.   Or that I was persecuted for being smart and put on trial on a snow bank one winter in 5th grade where a rotten banana was rubbed in my face. So for someone to be let into my world is quite an achievement.   I once did it with my one true love, Richard, who had AIDS and died in 1993.    We were together for three years and I learned the difference between love and lust in that Richard was so far away from an object of lust.   But he was so spot on with love.   It was as if I had known him forever and he just fit into my life in the right kind of emotional way.   His passing in 1993 was the most difficult thing in my life as I felt my entire heart torn from my soul.   Knowing what love is and living without it was hell on earth.   Being gay it was hard to deal with.   After a year or so I tried dating but the dead have a lingering perfection to them where the bad things - the hurting things about them melt away into their brillance and love.    Dating afterwards was so hard.    No one came close.   No one had that well worn favorite shirt feel.    There was nothing wrong with the others.   But they never had that "thing".    I knew what that "thing" felt like and it never hit me again. Until I spent week in and week out with Tim on those phone calls. He was three years younger than myself and we still had a generational bond that often came up in our discussions of life and how things have changed.    It wasn't long before our friendship became something more - we joked that we seemed like brothers separated by conception.    We laughed and cried over those 15 years.   Tim lost his mother last year and he was able to lean on me as he was grieving and trying to fill in that local support that he could lean on.    It was a mere phone call but I was a support - a shoulder he could cry on and who would work to keep him focused on life.   The digital phone line had become my own life line. What is difficult for me to deal with is I never met Tim in person - he lived in Canada and I live in the south eastern part of the United States.   There is no logical reason for me to have felt as I did for Tim, but my heart opened for the first time since Richard passed.   I should have known.    But I never figured that I would be facing another loss like this that was so close to my heart.    Funny thing about our hearts - a partially opened one becomes a fully invested one that allows us to enjoy life. And to feel joy. I should have known something was up when July 18th rolled around and there was no Tim calling me.    I don't know how we managed to fall into this pattern, but Tim always called at 7pm on the dot.   It was the one thing I looked forward to in a week that often had work and little more.   But when Tim didn't call on the 18th by 7:02pm, I called him.  I left several mesages that night.    My fear was that Tim had fallen due to his Parkinson's that was getting worse.    I had visions of him lying on the floor unable to get up or unable to reach his phone.    Perhaps I knew more than I suspected because I didn't learn of Tim's death until I called on a Saturday that following week and spoke with the London Ontario police.    They told me Tim had died.    I didn't ask any questions.   I was as dumbfounded as that day when Richard's mom had called me after Richard had gone home a few weeks prior.    He died.   I was speechless.    And then I hung up.    Wash.  Rinse. Repeat.   I hung up the phone with the London PD and balled my eyes out.    I was living that moment again   Heart ripped out.    Losing another that I held so close.    What makes this time so difficult is that I now what I'm going to go through.   I know the torment, the dreams, the re-occurring memories that make me wander off life into tears and loss.   I know what the freight train sounds like and its schedule.   I know that I'm going to get hit with emotions on this life track.. I know the triggers.   I know all of this.    Nothing logical can move this away from the total heart break I feel.    And now without that one support that I could count on, I'm back to wandering through misery with a flash light with weak batteries for which to illuminate the next part of my life. I should not logically be torn by a mere stranger over a phone line.    But Tim was so much more.   He was that fit for me - an odd ball loner who never opened his heart.    And now I'm lost.    I know I need to find something new - a joy - a passion - but I have to also face every Friday at 7pm.    That ghost will haunt me until the end.

It is often said that you don't know what you've lost until it is gone. I'd like to say my relationship with Richard was a fairytale romance, but it was really one forged with reality that Richard had AIDS.    And I was immature even at age 28 when I committed to him during his first significant health issue on that day in March 19th of 1990. Richard had his first bout with pneumonia.   He had had to push his car in the rain to get it off the road in the pouring rain.   I was at work.   I had not yet committed to him.  It wasn't until his roommate, a lesbian friend of mine had called me to say that Richard was in the hospital and wasn't doing well.   He was diagnosed with pneumonia. For months and months, we had been an on and off thing.    I was only four years into accepting that I was queer.    I hadn't dated much and couldn't spot love if it had actually hit me in the ass with an arrow.   Richard and I had met as we worked in the same restaurant - both of us were assistant managers.    I've never met someone who hit me like he hit me with that first look.    It is easy to dismiss the concept of love at first sight, but I swear there was this intangible thing about him.    I had no idea at first that he was even gay. In the hierarchy of love interests, Richard had nothing about him that made me physically interested.    He was shortish and balding even at age 25.   He was about the furthest thing from sexually arousing to me. But those eyes.    That smile.    That laugh.    He always made me feel good.   It was like I had known him for years even in those first minutes we met.    I had previously dated out of desperation - all of them with women prior to this.   I had forced myself to try playing with the opposite sex but it was never interesting.    I had never felt love. Until my eyes met his.    That lesbian friend of mine was actually my supervisor in that restaurant at that time and it was through her that I found out that not only was Richard gay, but he also fancied me. We were truly the odd couple.   He was heavier set and shorter than me and he was balding with his hair brushed back to mask the obvious shortage back there.  I was nearly six foot tall and at that age I looked nearly the same as the late NASCAR driver Davey Allison.    I was a dumb ass when I was that age.   I didn't realize how good my life was at that time and was full of myself.    Richard chased me for months giving me presents that I really didn't acknowledge.    Truth be told I was torn.   I knew what I was attracted to physically, but I was feeling things I'd never felt before.   I hadn't felt the love for another person that transcended being blood relative kind of love.    Here was a gay man who was interested in me.    As a dumb shit, I had several times pushed Richard away in a selfish kind of way.   I knew there was something different there, but didn't know what love was. Until that phone call from Diane about Richard being in the hospital.    For the first time in my life, I had sincerely felt pain and an anxiety over someone else.   I rushed to the hospital to where Richard was in his bed and in a typical drama queen manner, I knelt before his bed and committed to him on the spot.   I knew then in that moment of insanity that I had found love.    And it was then Richard told me he had AIDS.    If that didn't break my love commitment, nothing would. If you haven't had to live with someone with AIDS, particularly in the late 1980's and early 1990's, you have no clue as to the challenge of being a virile young gay man wanting to do certain things all while trying to balance being safe.    It was a constant challenge.   But we managed. Richard had bouts of sickness throughout our relationship, but I stuck with him until he decided in his last months that he wanted to go home to die.   He didn't say it that way, but he longed to be near his parents in Florida and it was evident that both of us weren't going to deal with death very well. Fast forward to August 23rd, 1993.   Richard had been gone for about six months when I received a call just as I had gotten home from work on a Friday evening. Richard's mom, a stern German woman who married an African American man that was Richard's father, was on the other end of the call.    She had often dismissed me as a frosted flake, but she called.    "Richard just passed away.   I knew he loved you so that is why I'm calling.    I wanted you to know that." And like that she hung up.    I have never felt that much pain and sense of loss.  It iwas like my heart had been ripped out of my body.   I'm not a crying fool, but I wailed and blubbered for hours.   I had just lost my world.    At that time he was my best friend and my lover.   Even though we had talked on the phone just days before, the pain of his loss was the most profound sense of pain I have ever felt.    We ended up together for about three years.    We weren't "married" as that wasn't an option in Virginia in 1990 - but we were married in our hearts. I've dated off an on after his passing but I have never felt that intangible feeling in any encounter.    After a couple years, I swore off dating.   It is so hard for a living person to compete with the dead - they have the aura of perfection in recollection and I was incapable of pushing through that loss. For about 10 years or so I have found a virtual connection that rivals that feeling of old soul love.    Though I have only met Tim through our virtual encounter, he is the closest person I know.   He is my best friend.    He is as close to a lover as I will ever have.   I am torn writing this for I don't want him to ever think I think less of him than Richard.    I have been able to carve out a piece of my heart that can still hold dear love and fondness.   It sits right there next to where Richard lingers in memory.   Neither are in a competiton for my fondness as I have reserved a larger bear hug that reaches to Canada just as it does to Richard's final resting place in Florida.

 

I want to tell you about my friend, Tim.

I live in the Southeastern part of Virginia while Tim lives in Southern Canada, in Ontario for this discussion.

I met Tim online in the heydays of Cyberspace's residence of manhood.   I won't mention the website's name or address, but it was a rare place where gay men could gather and admire the online cast and we could share thoughts.

It was there in the midst of cyberspace that Tim and I struck up an acquaintance and we slowly became friends both online and over the telephone.   For the past seven or so years we've become quite close.

Tim has been insulted online at that cyberspace venue and maligned.    I cringe at the disgusting things said to him.

Tim suffers from bipolar disorder and medications until recently did not provide him the level of continuity of composure that those of us who don't suffer from bipolar disorder take for granted.

Some have misunderstood Tim - he's called people at off hours because his medication did not stop the black outs that he suffers - sometimes the black outs cause him to fall and injure himself; sometimes the blackouts cause him to not realize what he says or who he's called or what he has purchased.    Many who are pretenders to the concept of tolerance have mocked and ridiculed Tim and have held against him situations which he has had no hope of control.

I am a friend - a true friend - as I fully appreciate the heart that Tim has - the compassion - the intelligence - the caring that he shows.   I've understood and recognized when he has those blackouts and have done as a friend does - understood and shown compassion.

Tim did not develop bipolar disorder in a means that was of his own fault or actions; he had a car accident that changed his life forever and made it impossible to pursue his career with a good paying job.    I don't say any of this to embarrass him or to hurt him.   I say this because his situation is of no fault of his own; yet some have said things behind his back poking fun at him without any compassion or concern about what has happened.   His life changed through fate, not because he acted stupidly.

Carey Price - click to enlarge

Today is Tim's birthday - something that I celebrate here publicly each of the past few years with pride and love.   And each celebration of Tim's "day" has been done with tribute to that which means much to him.    There have been celebrations of men, of his favorite hockey player, Carey Price, and today's nod toward his beloved Siamese cat, Samantha, who was the love of his life during the last 17 plus years until she passed away earlier this year.

Those of you who have never had a pet can just skip this paragraph - you can't possibly understand the loss of a pet and the damage it does to your "heart".   I can't appeal to the stone cold selfishness of non-pet-lovers. 

Tim's Cat, Sam

Tim was despondent and rightfully missing of his Sam.   I've lost several pets and know the feeling of having your heart ripped out and wondering if you could have done something to save a life that you failed to do.   Those of us who have beloved fur balls that purr understand that they are far more than four legged creatures of which we caretake; these are emotional crutches when we are sad; these are play things when we are happy and we tantalize our kitty with string and catnip mice and other toys; these are the aspects of our lives where we talk oddly toward our kitty as only cat caretakers can talk.

In the time since Sam's passing, Tim has shared his sense that she's still around - a glimpse here or there out of the corner of his eye of a cat's presence - all attributes we cat caretakers have shared if we are honest with ourselves.

Thankfully over this past year, Tim has been prescribed a new medicine that has practically returned the old Tim to our lives and eliminated his blackouts.    I'm so proud of Tim for enduring an over decade long search for normalcy via prescription and continuing to push to find a medicinal resolution to his situation.    And now he is such a cool guy - so intelligent - so compassionate and caring for others - so sensitive - and thanks to his new medicine, the old Tim is there for our enjoyment.

I am not ashamed to say that every Friday we speak on the phone for several hours and that we share what is happening in our lives and our discussions meander through our lives and shared experiences; we aren't merely rubber stamp guys - we disagree on some things and share love of other things; but Tim is a most respectful man and he melts my heart (it is alleged I have none) because he is just that special guy that you meet once in a lifetime.    And for those who took it upon themselves to be mean to him or to intentionally seek to inflict pain upon him, I can only say your Karma bank is empty and Tim's is overflowing.    It is all your loss, dudes.   You spiteful, schmucks.

And so it is that my friend, Tim, has a birthday today and I celebrate his day with these wonderful kitty pictures (a useful pussy expose) and a virtual hug so tight it makes things grow.

I thank you for being a friend.    Whether we are Dorothy or Blanche or talking about Saint Olaf, we can always solve a problem over cheese cake.

I have been truly blessed.

Several decades ago I stumbled across a friend who became a lover and who stood by me for nearly four years - we laughed - we cried - he meant more to me than anything else in the world.    When he died in 1993 I felt as if my heart had been ripped from me - an emptiness that could never be filled - and for years I walked through life replaying all of my regrets - remembering his "perfection" - yet forgetting all along that he was the one who died.     Not me.

Two decades later I have been blessed by the happenstance of an acquaintance at an online porn site - a place that was once a community but no longer is one.   And through the years where we both were members and several years after we left, we've maintained a weekly conversation.

I'm not built for much sexual exploration - I did my share when I was in my twenties before meeting Richard and ultimately settling down with him.    Since his passing I have had no real desire to pursue such intimacy - I'm a coward, I suppose.   I remember the feeling of my heart being pulled from my soul, and I swore that I would never put myself in that situation again.   When your best friend is also your lover and you lose one, you lose the other.   I walked in a daze for years committing myself to work but leaving my own personal life by the wayside.

Now in my 50's, I have long lost what good looks I had, but I have gained a perspective of maturity and a wisdom of having been there and done that in my life.   I've recently found closure with Richard's death and a new sense of appreciation of life.

And now I have found a truly wonderful friend - my best friend - a friend whom I can talk with - whom shares with me things he dare not say to others.   Even though we've never met beyond conversations on the telephone, I feel connected to him in a way that I once was connected with Richard.   If you've been in a long-term relationship you can relate - a sense of trust - a sense of knowing the person beyond the years you've known the person.   Slowly but surely this gentleman has occupied that empty space I have inside.

We talk every Friday - he greets me with possum and I greet him with Mrs. Doubtfire.    We close in a similar way.    What started out as friendship is evolving to something more precious and more rewarding.    What we talk about is for our ears to hear, but the two hours we spend each Friday are some of the last words I hear before I go to bed that night.   I lament that significant distance is between us in geography, but I nonetheless feel a closeness to him that I have missed.    We agree to disagree on many items - he loves his MAC's and I am a Dell man.   He loves a wider variety of foods than I do.   And we certainly aren't on the same side of many political discussions - but our differences are perhaps what I cherish the most - that we manage to grow by listening to each other's passions and our divergent thoughts are never wedges in our friendship - they are the dovetails in a fine piece of furniture that meld our lives - that add spice and spontaneity to our conversations.

My "friend" recently had a birthday last Friday, and I so wanted to make it special for him - I worked to make his favorite hockey player's graphic - chose videos that I thought told the story of his rise to fame, and then told him a bit of a white lie that I had lost several videos that he had wanted - all the time scheming to send them early that morning so he'd have them to start his birthday.   I hope that I made a part of his birthday more special than it might otherwise have been - I know it made me feel close to him than I've ever felt.  

And with this I'll say, "goodnight, poppet".   And I can hear the "possum" inside me embrace my heart.

A Special Thanks

Sometimes in one's life you are lucky to have met or known one person who touched you.   In an instant you knew in your heart that that person was special.   There was no bond of blood or relation, but you felt that you had known that person for ages and that you felt comfortable with him beyond your years in life.   I felt that with my late Richard who passed away at age 28 in 1993.   He was like that comfortable sweater that you put on that always seemed to fit.   He made me laugh and cry.  He was so my opposite in many ways and not of the body type that I would have ever dreamed of.   But I loved him so utterly deeply that it was truly love at first sight.    He was the most profound person I've ever met in person.

But let me tell you about the most profound person I've met in the last 20 years.

My friend is Tim.   You may know him as Tearle in the fratpad chatroom.    For some reason we have gravitated toward each other - as if moths to flames - a shared kindredness that I've called "brothers separated at conception".    There is no reason I should find him as endearing as I do - he's Canadian - I'm a rabid American.   He's physically fit - I'm, well, a work in progress.   He's more reserved and often sells himself short.   I'm brash in cyberspace and a total recluse in the real world.

And yet, I love him so.

There is something about him that goes beyond the ones and zeros of cyberspace that I so love.   He's the only person since Richard that I can be totally honest with - and he with me.   We know the warts of each other's character and we share totally useless conversation that only friends share.   I never knew how I missed that, but Tim is beyond just a screen name.   He truly seems to care.

And I do care about him.

I want to state emphatically to those in the chatroom at fratpad who have nothing better to do than to spread falsehoods, that I hold Tim in the highest regards and he is forever my friend.   I shall never give up on him and he is one of the only people living who now has access to my heart.    I don't know why some in chat would make such a ridiculous and dishonest representation about Tim and I, but let it be stated for the record that you are a liar.   Tim will forever be a keyholder with me and he and only him right now has the special recognition as my best friend.   And if we lived closer, who knows what this might blossom into.

To Tim - a special thanks for being someone whom I love beyond reason.    I thank you for being a true friend.