Huggy's downward spiral prompted a phone call from one of his counselors today. She tells me, "I don't know anything about diabetes, but he looks like he has AIDS."

I know he's afraid of dying, but mostly he's afraid of dying alone. He's spent his whole life being alone and now that he's facing his own mortality he is terrified by where he finds himself.

His counselor advised us to set aside anything that may be keeping us distanced from Huggy, or to try to come to some closure about it with him, because she does not think he's going to pull through this time.

"You can tell when you look at him, that he's not there, that he doesn't recognize himself anymore."

I wish I had the luxury of having only known Huggy as the bad bullshit artist, manipulator, liar, and thief that he is, and never the kind soul who took care of the elderly, adopted strays and found grace in the rocks of the earth. I wish I had never known the young man with a heart so big it overwhelmed everyone in his path.

I called Jimmy, urging him to drive over and see Huggy. He will not. He's so angry and frustrated with Huggy (for being Huggy) that he won't bend.

"I'm not asking you to take him in again," I pleaded. "I am asking you to go see your only brother. To put aside all the shit between you, because you know what it's like when you don't -- you know, you know, we've been through this twice before, Jimmy... you know what it's like to live with that kind of regret. You know..."

Our father died in February.

Our mother died in March.

I think Huggy is feeling the weight of those memories for the first time in years ... and in his diminished mental state, compounded by his physical pain, it seems enough to kill him.