His birthday was Tuesday, he would have been 60. Turning 60 bothered him, for he was in love with a woman my age, and worried there were too many years between them.

He was the kindest, gentlest man I have ever, EVER, met. He had a tormented soul, but loved so hard, so fully. He was the best father, when his children hurt, he hurt, he simply loved them. The day he disappointed them, he fell apart, and never really recovered from it. He tried though. Tried his best to show his children daily, hourly, how much he truly did love them.

He had a warm loving relationship with his ex-wife, they still went on "dates" together when he went home to visit his children. When he fell in love with another, this worried him, greatly. He worried about his ex-wife, and how she would feel. They had a connection that would never be severed. At least, I tried to tell him that.

He could be feeling so dark, so depressed, but even at those times, he would do his best to keep me laughing, doing impressions of movie stars of old, usually Bogart, an attempt anyway. There were times I really couldn't figure out who he was trying to impersonate, but for him, I pretended I knew. There was nothing he wouldn't do for me. Nothing. There was nothing I wouldn't do for him. Nothing.

Ten months ago, he fell in love, fell madly, passionately, deeply, head over heels in love. He knew she was insane, he knew her family was even more insane, at times he even feared for her life, her young son's life. At one point we knew his own life was in danger, but we all thought the threat had passed. It was no matter to him though, he continued to love her and her young son. He was her savior, her knight in shining armor. He gave the gift of himself to her, and to her young son. Never wavering, always, always there for her. His life was in turmoil, turned upside down because of this love, but he never, not once, forsake her. Even when she lied to him, nothing could stop him from loving. He forgave all, he simply loved.

He loved me too. He knew me inside out, all of my uglies, and loved me all the more because of them. I knew all of his uglies too, and loved him all the more because of them. There was nothing he did not know of me, we held nothing back, he and I. We spoke of this, the utter openness of our friendship, how bizarre it often seemed. He was so protective of me, he gave me so much support, he gave me so much strength, he listened, he loved. I hope, oh how I hope, I gave the same to him. He was my best friend.

He was a truly beautiful person, a brilliant scholar, a gifted teacher, an even more gifted therapist. He was silly, smart, anguished, tortured, and so full of love.

He is gone now, his life stolen from him, taken.

Tonight, I HATE. I hate the man who killed him. I HATE HIM. I have never hated anyone before. But tonight, I HATE. I want him to forever live with what he has done. I want him to lose everything that is most precious to him, I want him to live with what he has done for years, and years, and years, and years. I want him to feel daily for the rest of his life how putrid his soul is. I HATE HIM.

The most loving, kindest, gentlest soul I have ever known, is gone.

I miss him, I will forever miss him.

But, I am also grateful, so very grateful for the years I had with him. Grateful he loved with all of his might, to his very last breath he loved.