In various emails, phone and in person conversations, people, when asking about the experience with David, will often ask what was the hardest part. While the answer to that could certainly qualify in a number of areas, contexts and situations, it is an answer that for me is easy, and I doubt will ever change. This is one aspect that, a year later, unfortunately has not become one bit easier to deal with. Though what I have come to believe, is that in the final tally, it may not be as important as I once thought it to be. The following is reprinted from a year ago. Feel free to add to the comments.

*** 

On Monday, September 24 / 2007, at 11:12 am, my partner of almost eight years, David Hull, died peacefully and without pain. When the time came and he left the world, the window was open wide, allowing the morning breeze and the scent of early fall to freshen the room. I tell myself he was content, as he was in the hospice he felt at home in, cared for by a nurse who was also a personal friend, and beside him was a close friend of over twenty five years, clasping his hand. Everyone commented on how smooth a transition it had been.

And on my really good days, I let myself believe that. On other days, guilt rises, and quickly submerges the hope that it had been a peaceful journey. Because the harsh and cold reality is, I will never know. There's no way I can; I wasn't there.

I had lived, slept, and eaten at the hospice the four days before David's death. The staff, all of them strong, wonderful, and intuitive, had moved a second bed into the room, and the house chef made my meals, free of charge. All of this so that David and I could have quality time in his final days. It was more than appreciated, as the change in his condition had been swift.

A week earlier, I had taken David out for lunch. Afterward, we had gone to a park by the ravine. One that had been a regular destination since adopting Singher, our crazy dog. I remember seeing David smile as he watched Singher chase after the ball I was throwing into the grass. He'd laugh as she would splash through the pond, not taking the long way, afraid I'd beat her to it. Days after that outing I would recall there was an odd peace about David as we left the park. He paused at the gate, glancing back at Singher, who, as usual,  was lazily bringing up the rear.

In the four days before the 24'th, I had only left David's side to walk and feed the dog, often bringing her back with me, so she could climb into his bed and snuggle. The staff never complained, instead they offered her biscuits and pats with each visit. On the morning of the 24'th I realized with some embarrassment that I was in the same underwear, shorts and T shirt I had lived the past two and a half days in. I was assured that yes, in fact, I was smelling a little ripe. I knew I needed to shower, as well as feed the mutt. When I left a little after ten thirty, David was largely unresponsive, though he opened his eyes, nodded, and squeezed my hand as I assured him I'd be right back.

I set the water on mildly cool, and as the first pulsations hit my back, it is one of the most pleasurable sensations I have experienced in weeks. I  close my eyes, letting myself enjoy the cool, rough and rapid jets of water. No more than a second after my feet hit the bathmat I hear the phone. Instinctively I rush to it, wet, naked, tripping over the dog on the way, somehow avoiding a fall, finally catching the phone on its fourth ring.

He does not need to tell me twice. With no underwear, a pair of gym shorts, and a cotton plaid shirt I am doing up in the elevator, I proceed to make the short, eleven block drive, one that crosses a bridge over the ravine, as well as the busiest street in downtown Toronto, in record time. Haphazardly parking the car, I jump out, glancing at my watch. 11:13 am. Sprinting the half block to the old, grand Victorian, I take the three lobby stairs in one jump.

Instantly, I realize I am too late. The face of Stanley, the front desk receptionist, clearly tells me what we both don't say. When he struggles for words, I smile, quickly and reflexively raising my palm.

Jim, David's friend and nurse, approaches as I get off the elevator. I look away and ask slowly and carefully if he is gone.  "Just a few minutes ago",  Jim says, putting his hands on my shoulders.

I've long wondered what goes through ones mind at those moments. For me, it is like a slowly rising wave. I immediately connect to it, it is oddly reminiscent of surfing. An initial rise on a crest, followed by a single moment of profound, intense silence through the curl. But it's after the brief, momentary hover, silence ends, and everything comes crashing down.

I sigh, making an almost laughing burp, then collapse into Jim's thick, calming arms. His embrace is assured, generous, and strong, yet seems so naturally tender. After what I assume is several minutes, he releases, responding only to my deep breath and relaxing body.

He tells me the time of death. 11:12 am. For whatever reason, through that uncomfortable mix of tears, laughter, and snot, I say, "I missed it by two minutes, and I have no fucking underwear on". Only to let the laughter flow into tears yet again.

Several minutes later Jim and I enter David's room. I hug Chuck, his friend of so many years, who has been in the room with David until the end. I briefly and politely hug his sister. Who has stayed in the hall. For the next several hours I sit with David, and feel strangely at peace. Chuck and Jim tell me every detail, and the thought that they are feeding me a big load of BS, never comes. It sounds like David slowly drifted off after the fentanyl, loved ones at his side as he made his last transition.

It is not until Tracy comes on shift that I actually verbalize it. Tracy is a favorite nurse, and has been in charge of David's home care. They have grown extremely close during the last several months, and I have come to regard her as nothing less than family. Taking my head to her chest, she strokes my nape, and through sobs, I say what I have been thinking since arriving several hours earlier.

"Why didn't he wait? Why wouldn't he wait two God damn minutes! I promised him I'd be there. That's all I've said for the last fucking four days, and it's the one thing I didn't do".

Cupping my face, and closing in on my eyes with her own, Tracy begins.

And on most days, the good days, I believe that.

I've hesitated in putting this last post up. It's not happy, I'm afraid it's not overly generous, and it does not come out to roses and sunshine in the end. But it is real, it is raw, and it is some of the most honest writing I have ever done in this space. For what it's worth....

One of the brutal realities of impending death is that it doesn't let you work on your own time. It is what it is, and ready for it or not, it decides when your time here is over. Often in a terminal event there is at least a measure of resignation. And while not acceptance exactly, there is a lack of a willful resistance.

Though for some, that never happens. Because of the way the illness occurred, entirely an accident through a hospital medication error years earlier, it was not a reality we concerned ourselves with. He took his liver meds, he didn't drink or use drugs, and he watched his food content and intake, and we were assured enthusiastically and often that things would be fine.

And what's that they say about death and taxes? When the complications began the winter before he died, they came fast and they came severe. For those who have never seen the effects of chronic liver disease up close, pray you don't. In less than one year, David went from 240 pounds of bearish muscle, to a low of 115 pounds of emaciated flesh. With the inevitable bowling ball stomach of liver toxin unable to be excreted.

For a man who once modeled and was considered quite the good looking catch, it doesn't matter how far you have come in regard to the higher understanding that really, your looks carry little overall value. When they go, you lose a huge part of yourself. When the medications caused the enamel on his teeth to disintegrate, and every last one of them fell out in the span of a month and a half, seeing the reaction on David's face every time he passed a mirror is something that I still physically grimace over when I think of it. Seeing the confident, assured man I was in love with so defeated, so disgusted with what he had become, and being unable to offer anything except assurance and an embrace, was nothing less than pure, unadulterated torture.

Closer to the end, it became worse. Much worse. Realizing you are going to die, while at the same time realizing that the friends, most of them anyway, you have shared a life and history with for over thirty years have long since deserted you because of the "uncomfortable" dynamic you tend to represent in social situations, is a difficult pill to swallow. Because try as one might, there is no real denying how the phone calls cease, the invites trickle off, and how after nine weeks in a row, your partner just doesn't bother to invite the old friends for Sunday dinner. The reality of his impending mortality bitch slapped across his wasted face with every well phrased rejection.

When "I'd rather just go to bed" is the statement that comes from your partners mouth, the residual anger and loathing that results is something that can never be assuaged or be placed. Perhaps it's my occasional common sense approach to human relationships, but if you are going to be a friend, then get off your ass and be a fucking friend.

"I can't deal with it" is never a fucking option. Sorry, it just isn't!

Otherwise, please take up space elsewhere, preferably somewhere that does not see you return. And if you do return, as I have seen a few of you do, in some search for a non deserved redemption, don't expect it from me. Very simply, you are too late. Enjoy the baggage.

In the end, it was both very beautiful and also brutally tragic that the people David depended on (besides two very loyal and very sweet close friends of over forty years), the ones who were there, the ones who stayed, David had known none of them for more than seven years. That is especially sad when one goes back to what I reference in the opening paragraph. The reality that some people are not yet ready to go. Some people fight it until the end. Some are completely terrified of what is in store.

Unfortunately, that was the way it was for David. The one aspect of liver disease that I have not touched on, and one that I won't, is the very evil and nasty dynamic of brain toxicity. Combine fear with confusion, and that can only begin to hint at what that dynamic can look like. A year later, I am still finding the occasional note in the pockets of packed away shirts, or in an old daytimer collecting dust. No, not love letters. Notes that state the painful reality of what it is to begin the experience of losing one’s mind. Notes that say things like:

"My name is David Hull and my partner is Allan Rae. Sometimes I get confused because of my liver. Please call Allan at...."

So let's just say that over the past year I have stopped smiling at the well intentioned, "well at least he was at peace" patronizing bullshit that is often expressed in hopes of soothing and dulling the pain.

He was not in peace, he was in turmoil. He was depressed, he was terrified, and he was in no way ready to go. But, It is what it is. So there is no way I will ever be resigned to the idea that "all was well with the world". No, all was not. But what I am thankful for is that during the time that it mattered, there were, either in person, or in spirit from miles away, people who cared and loved David, and did all they could to demonstrate that love and care to him.

It is often said that death brings out the best and worst of the remaining humanity. I have come to know that as a physical law. In this specific case, I would have to say I saw an equal measure of both. Thankfully though, the strength of humanity will always win out. To those who were there, I can't thank you enough. Each of you made a horrible and tragic event a little less so. Collectively, you kicked ass. And in many ways, saved mine. To those who couldn't, for whatever reason, be bothered, thanks for showing us who you are. I assure you, it was noticed, and it will never be forgotten.

Coming up with a somewhat substantive post to mark the first anniversary of your partners untimely death is, I'm finding, a challenge. It's not that there is a lack of memories and experiences regarding David, our relationship, and what this past year has been. But if I do that, if I write about just one or two things, I will neglect something else that, given the context, should be included. So what to do?

The first thing was to realize I could not do this alone. After getting that fact through my head, I went to work. I searched well over one thousand emails, essays, memories of conversations, and had discussions with friends. All looking for the same theme. Who was David? A small sampling of some of the best of what I found appears below. I think it does a great job of showing just some of the nuance, the humor, the compassion and the charm that made up the man known as David P Hull.

This will be a little different in format. But first be warned. Some of what follows can be a bit bawdy, however the point is to show the complexity, the duality, and even the stuff no one would believe, in an attempt to highlight what made up this mans rich and complex humanity. As such, this is a live blogging post and I will update it whenever I think of things, and when ever they come to me.

This is also to be a multi authored post, and will be updated by Karen, Dan, Allison, Rod, and myself for the next twenty four hours. If anyone has anything to add, please, you are more than welcome to toss your thoughts into the comments. This is about how we knew David. For those that did not have the pleasure, this post will also serve as an introduction for you. You would have loved him.

David P Hull

November 17, 1949 ~ September 24, 2007

David - the initial teasers:

• was born in Petrolia, Ontario, Canada, home to the countries first oil well.
• was raised a God fearing Baptist
• died a content and resigned agnostic
• had one sister
  
• began volunteering for the local ambulance service when he was only seventeen.
• obtained his first college diploma as a funeral director.
• worked for both the ambulance and funeral home because of course, they were the same company.
• laughed about the "conflict of interest" inherent in that set up often.
• was engaged to a woman when he was eighteen.
• realized he could in no way marry her due to what he had never acknowledged.
• shared with his fiancee that he was gay. He said it was because he really did love her

David - accomplishments

• was an Ontario all star high jump champion, holding a provincial record for his entire college sports career.
• in 1976 was chosen from a pool of over two thousand people to be one of twenty paramedics in the very first advanced life support paramedic program in Ontario at Queens University.
  
• was asked to come back and teach the year after graduation
• In 2006, was awarded the Governor Generals exemplary service medal of honor for 20 years of outstanding EMS service
• modeled on the cover of Damrons Gay Travel Guides for three years in a row.
• competed in the 1983 International Mr. Leather Competition in Chicago
• Pissed off the entire pool of judges with the keys he attached to his belt.~ Fisher Price Mobiles
• yes, the sense of humor was often sick.

David ~ the stud

• was one of the most sexual, as well as the most sexually confident men I had ever met.
• was responsible in some large ways with beginning my journey towards a very comfortable sexuality.
• our sex life never went cold
• until it surgically went cold
• even then we were having sex four to five times a week after four years together
• we believed in emotional as well as initial monogamy.
  
• the idea that emotionally you are always faithful and exclusive and physically, when both are on the same page and you have developed your own sexuality with each other first, then to explore outside the relationship is an individual decision
• he brought out the kinkiest and raunchiest sides of me that anyone has thus far.
• though he moved in some of the harder core sexual scenes he was by far the most respectful sexual partner I have had.
• understood making love and having sex were two different things that didn't have to work on a better than the other dynamic.
• and because he would be the first to say it, he was the worst cock sucker I have ever been with, hands down. He could gag on an aspirin! His self identified nickname around this issue? Knob gobbler.

David ~ evil, cheeky monkey
by Karen

One of David's most enduring qualities, and it is of course the one I love best, was his ability to get away with all manner of things that, in any other context, would have seen him castrated. I believe I told this story after his death, but the first time that I had met David, the very first time, I was a young, angry, political tree hugger feminist out of a four year women's study degree at Trent (Canada's Berkley). so it served to flow naturally that I would be making some sweeping, dismissive and radical point in the discussion which followed dinner. I should say that there was a strange level of silence in the room when David refereed to my anger over whatever the issue was, similar to having my "salty piss flaps in a knot".

And then the strangest thing happened. He winked at me, and I smiled back. Please understand, every other living creature with a penis would have been slaughtered in a heartbeat, but the dynamic David was showing me was oddly and specifically just for me. He took me along on a journey as far as he thought I could handle, and then stayed with me at the end until my parents came to get me, was the vibe. That is how it felt, and it was really, really sweet. And utterly surprising to all who were witness.

The other point I wanted to make was that making David and Al godparents to our twins was the best decision Dan and I have ever made. If these two strange, oddly shaped, always hungry little male people grow up to be half the man that David was, then my weird role as parent will have been effective at something.

David ~ shy
by Al

No one believes that. Though there were elements to his personality you would come to know as very introverted, very introspective and not at all comfortable being on public display. The amusing element to all this was the fact that reality did not always inform his choices about things that, eventually, would take a nice bite out of his ass.

Long story short, because his ex was an artist, and because David was very handsome, he was always being pursued by these starving artist types to model while they painted him, or put him in some odd freakishly strange photo collage etc etc. In other words, he has done some alternative and out there posing and has commented more than once how it was perhaps a good thing that the type of artist who was interested in him as the focus of their vision, was "starving". And hopefully would stay that way.

Which makes the incident of three summers ago quite amusing. Myself, David, Karen, Dan and my parents. all visiting The National Art Gallery Of Canada in Ottawa, my parents home. I believe it was Karen to point out his complexion first. For some reason David was looking a little green. "Excuse me" was all that was said, and in an instant he was gone. Amusingly, my mother never made the connection between David, and the man in the two story wall photograph we had just turned the corner to come face to face with.

The one where a rather hairy, muscular 240 pound frame is sprawled on layers of burgundy velvet, adorned in a toga, wearing a crown, all while being fed grapes by several dancing nymphs. "You know that really did look just like David did it not", says Mom, in the car on the way home. David, once again green as the grapes, is imploding into the car floor. Karen, Dan and myself are hysterical in the backseat as this occurs. I imagined my parents were thinking."when the hell do they leave'"