I was 18 when Tanya and I went to see Leaving Las Vegas with Nicholas Cage and Elizabeth Shue. Both of us children of hopeless alcoholics - my father was at the time dying from liver cancer brought on by a broken heart - we were affected. I knew all too well what it took for a man to will himself to death.

My father met my mother on a blind date in January of 1965. On their second date, he said to her "I'm going to marry you before the year is out. Accept it, or there's no reason to keep seeing each other." They married in November.

She died 25 and a half years later, and he began to slowly die. I suppose had he wanted to, he could have topped himself right then and there. But he had a fourteen year old daughter who would have landed in the care of her idiot godparents, or worse. So he hung on. He pickled and preserved himself, but he hung on.

Months before my 18th birthday, he became ill. I suppose it was right on schedule. As soon as I was legal, he stopped his treatment. With my permission. At least he asked, first. Who was I to hold him back?

A few months later, Tanya and I sat in a darkened theatre, watching a similar scene play out, set to one of the best soundtracks I have ever heard. I am listening to that soundtrack tonight. It's sad and sultry and Sting is at his very best. And so I will curl up on the sofa and remember. Not the movie, but an even greater love story.