December 26th, 1977

The best part was this. Late last night I woke up to a late night Humphrey Bogart movie and a dark living room lit only by the tiny Christmas tree lights. My lover is sleeping on the sofa with his cat, Mango, curled up in his arm. Everything is OK– and it’s all because Richard is sound asleep on my sofa and we are together again. If only for Christmas– if only for tonight.

And then today, drifting through early afternoon sunniness of my Glover Park apartment knowing that I am doing OK by myself and wondering what this longing is that I get from having Richard for the weekend.

I call my mother in Missouri who loved a crazy man for 30 years. Surely she will understand how I feel.

She does, of course.

She tells me everything I know already. To stay away from Richard.

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How do you stay away from someone who has brought more happiness into your life than you have ever been able to conceive? How do you not rush to the side of the one man that you have truly needed? How do you let someone die without trying to help?

Richard vomits all day yesterday. He tells me that his doctor has found a growth on his colon. He tells me that he has a bleeding ulcer that is a constant source of pain. He cannot eat. He takes valium the way some people smoke. Every hour he wakes from his tranquilized stupor and asks for his “bag” which contains his various prescriptions for valium.

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