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They say death is the great equalizer. We all feel pretty much the same after we die.
And when a loved one dies, the living all suffer the same pain of loss. And so it was for my friend when Bill died.
My friend was inconsolable and there was little anyone could do to ease the torment in his heart. Bill had died of AIDS and Mark was his friend, his life mate, his lover. But not his husband.
As Tina Turner sang, what’s love got to do with it?
Mark and Bill had lived together in a loving relationship for more than 20 years (far longer than most heterosexual marriages I know.)
The disease that took Bill’s life had been contracted by an infected blood supply, not by infidelity or promiscuity.
Bill and Mark were faithful to each other and it was horrible irony that a simple operation at a veteran’s hospital would doom him to die years later.
Bill had fought in Vietnam, defended our nation and our liberties.
Born in 1950, Bill belonged to that lucky generation that enjoyed the military’s last military draft. He “won” the lottery and was shipped off to Hell on Earth.
He was “told” to go fight for his country. Paradoxically enough, he wasn’t “asked” about his sexual preference.
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