He died in my arms this morning at 8:18, on Friday the 13th. We stared into each others' eyes and I saw my reflection in his beautiful, chocolate Tootsie-Pop drop eyes. Nobody or anything has been with me this long, not my parents (they split when I was 11), no man, nothing. Friends--of course--but no one by my side. He came to me after 9/11, after a terrible year filled with so much incredibly absurd heartbreak and restless traveling that to write it would result in disbelief. He healed my broken heart and soul far more than any therapy ever could. Complete love, joy, affection, forgiveness--for he had been dumped on a cold wintry Boston street in January of 2002, ears cut, leg injured, ribs showing, and facing death row, where he was given a second lease on life by the incredible Milton Animal League. Like most things in my own life, I found him by a serendipitous turn of fate. He has always been there for me. I used to play this and sing it to him.
Good night, sweet prince...and flights of angels sing thee to they rest.