When it comes to remembering those special people who have touched our lives, who are no longer with us, I dont think it's necessarily important as to how often we remember them as much as why we remember them. Granted, I think about my friend Lance on a regular basis because he was not only one of the most funniest and liveliest people I've ever known, but he was always there providing me with moral support whenever I needed it the most in my life. The reason why I'm thinking about him so much today is because I'm getting closer in reaching one of the threshholds that has recently taken shape in my life and I dont know how or when to move forward into it but I know in my heart and my soul that when it is time to do so, Lance will be right there with me in spirit cheering me on. I miss him so much.
Lance and I use to have some really good heart-to-heart conversations throughout the years, right up until he passed away in 2001. In fact, one of the last conversations we had has really helped me come to terms with one of the threshholds I mentioned in the above paragraph. It was shortly after he was admitted to the hospital for the very last time. Of course, at the time we all thought, himself included, that he'd be out in a coupla weeks; but, that never happened.
I remember it was a very cold day in December when I went to visit him in the hospital. As I entered his room he appeared to be struggling with trying to sleep. His eyes would open a bit and then close, and then when I coughed (not intentionally mind you) he opened his eyes, looked over in my direction, smiled and said "What are you doing here, Scrubbz??" to which we both laughed. That was the nickname he gave me after I lost my hair to the cancer cause he always told me my head felt like a Scotch-Brite pad on top! He always use to tease me about it, yet he was one of the very few friends who understood why I always had my hair done crew-cut style, so close to the scalp, because ever since the cancer it only grows straight out, it never folds over or lays down like normal hair. Without having it shaved so close my hair would look like the white version of announcer Don King's hair - no shit. In fact, Lance always understood why I mourned the loss of my hair, because he knew me way before those blonde waves became history.
We talked about how things were going with this health, naturally, what his next work project would entail and what his plans were for the holidays, you know, the usual conversation topics that are broached during hospital room visits. Then as we were talking, I helped him straighten out one of the iv tubes going into him and then held his hand for awhile afterwards. While I was doing so, he looked up at me and I could see that tears were starting to roll down his face and I said "Now look, it's gonna be okay, you're gonna...." and he interrupted me and said "I know, but I fucken hate this shit, just fucken hate it" so I leaned down and kissed the top of his forehead and while I was giving him a gentle hug, he said to me "I wanna talk to you about something" to which I said "Sure, no problem Hon, let me pull up the chair."
He reached out for my hand and I grabbed onto his and then he began to speak. The conversation that followed is just as meaingful to me today as it was all those years ago. "Look, I know why you've decided to remain outta the spotlight all these years and I know how much you still miss him, but at the rate this damn shit is spreading {he was referring to Hiv/AIDS} there may come a time when you're the only one of us left" to which I interjected "Now look Lance, I'm just one person and I can't just..." to which he interrupted me and said "Shush with that can't bullshit, you need to listen to me." So I held his hand tighter and ticked a lock. He looked deep into my eyes and continued. "There may come a time when you're the only one of us left {meaning the circle of friends/Hiv'ers we were close with} and even though right now you might think that that's nothing butta load of crap, on that day you're gonna have to set aside those demons of the past, stand up, and jump right into the frontlines. I know you think I've totally lost it, but it's the truth and you know it is." At that point, images of Jack and the others who were close to Lance and I, rushed into my mind and I started tearing up a bit.
I stopped him at that point and said "But Lance, I dont know if I could ever do something like that by myself" and he held my hand tighter and said "Look, you're never gonna be totally alone. We joke around a lot but no one is as formidable as you. That spark, that fighting spirit that is inside of you, when you get around other people it fans out all over the place. It doesnt mean you're a hero, it doesnt even mean you're a champion; but, it definitely means that when push comes to shove, you can make a difference."
I got up off the chair and leaned over and hugged Lance good-n-firm at that point, for what seemed a long time. I wiped my tears, as he did his and then I said to him "Okay Lance. If you think my going public someday will make that much of a difference, if it means that much to you then I will at least try. I'll try when...." He said to me "Doesnt matter when, just remember what I said. When the time comes, you'll know it. Whether any of us are here or not, you've got so much hope pushing behind and ahead of you." I then said to him "But the naysayers Lance, what if years from now those very same folks are around to throw mud at me, what the hell do I do then?" I'll never forget what his response was to my question, "You're gonna do what you've always done - you're gonna look them straight in the face and tell them all to go to hell, you're gonna keep on fighting and you're gonna keep on surviving, like you always have. I'm counting on you, and so are alotta others. Whatever you do, dont ever stop believing in yourself. You gotta promise me that, and that you'll never give up fighting this." So I did. And I wont ever give up.
After our intense conversation, it was time for Lance to have some more tests run, so I hugged him before I left and told him that I'd give him a call in the next coupla days and that if he needed anything to let me know. I did go back the following week to visit him and he seemed in better spirits, but then a few days later he took a turn for the worse and shortly afterwards he passed away. My heart broke and I cried for days. Whatta lousy holiday season it was that year. He was such a dear, close friend and I will never forget him, nor everything he said to me that day I visited him in the hospital.
I have been thinking an awful lot about Lance lately and what he said to me for the past week or so now and I've come to a decision about that one threshhold. When I do come out totally as an Hiv+ individual, as well as add my face and my real name to the battle against Hiv/AIDS, I'm also gonna do what Lance suggested I do - I'm gonna do my damnest to reclaim the history of my generation, as well as educate the younger generations of activists about that history. I'm also gonna try my hardest to get the current Hiv/AIDS community to mobilize itself. Yes, I am only one person and yes, I may or may not succeed, but I sure as hell am not gonna give up without a fight. As I've stated previously in this blog, people need to realize that you dont win battles against Hiv/AIDS by attending gala events, having your pictures taken with this-n-that person, hiding behind the security blanket of this-or-that organization, or planting your lips firmly and securely on the asses of some of the more idol-worshipped older activists. In fact the latter example is the main difference between the intergenerational activists - we didnt kiss asses back then, we kicked them. We didnt get what we wanted and needed by being nice and politely asking - we got in peoples faces and made our demands. There's no big secret to any of this, just find that spark inside of yourself, simply join forces with others who share that spark and away you go. Also, there was no "us" or "them" back then, just "we." That always made a difference too.
It was good to remember Lance again but it was also equally good to remind myself that that person who I once was in the early years of the AIDS crisis is still alive and kicking. After Jack died in 1989 and that fighting spirit fizzled a bit, I thought the person who I was then died right along with Jack and that spirit of determination, but he didnt. I'm still here and I may be older, perhaps even wiser, but I'm still basically the same person I always was, except I think I'm stronger. I think every now-n-then its extremely psychologically healthy to remind ourselves of where we have been in life, where we are currently going and what we are hoping to accomplish in the future, sorta like a pseudo-reality check. Maybe that's what life experience does for a person, it makes them resilient in the face of adversity. If that is indeed true then when the time comes for me to step back into the public light again, I think I'll be just fine. In fact, I know I will. Thank you for reading.
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