David called me on Saturday, April 23, 1994, to tell me Bill died that morning at 8:35. Now it was over. The inevitability, the feelings of resignation, concern, fear, and despair would all merge into a sense of great loss. Mostly, I felt calm, even numb. I was glad to know Bill died peacefully and not in pain and that he didn’t suffer a long decline. “But goddamn it!” I wrote in my journal that day. “This was a man I loved a great deal—more than I’ve ever loved another man in a lot of ways.” He was the “icing on the cake” when I decided to move to Washington. He vexed me by breaking up with me regularly and keeping me always guessing what he felt for me. He hurt my feelings greatly at times with unchecked comments.