Heath was Ennis and Ennis was Heath. I never viewed the two differently or separated the man and the character. In his real life, I felt and believed Heath lived as Ennis would given similar circumstances.
Funerals generate such a sense of finality. His today causes me to feel that way very deeply. Gone is Heath; gone is Ennis. The platitudes of the future celebrating his memory and what he left us with seem paltry. Without him any longer among the lives he touched is like nowhere to go when you’re hungry.
Strange, by sheer happenstance this morning I flip on the radio and an Australian singer’s reprise is ‘Nobody left to hold me tight. Nobody left to kiss goodnight.’
I suspect that had Heath not done Brokeback, he would be alive today. His fame, fortune and desperate need for rest and peace may not have been so intense had he not catapulted so quickly.
But, you can’t un-ring a bell.
His drive to give a performance that mimicked reality for so many and created a reality that always seemed out of reach or possibility for many was a gift from the heart. Heath’s most notable trait is that of a giver. His gift was our gain; we got more than he did. He gave a newness to life for thousands, no, millions, and my own pitiful attempt at thanks is abysmally weak and fails miserably to be adequate.
