        |
||||
 |
Monday, November 15, 2004 GINNY FROM THE MIX(I work with Ginny at MIX 102.7FM. This is what she wrote to me after i gave her some bath bombs from LUSH, and then happened upon the Larry Kramer speech i posted. Ru.) Ru, I came home and made an entry about the lovely gift you gave me; I linked to your site and I figured while I was at it (as long as I was there) I'd read the first couple of entries in your blog. I have to tell you, I was beyond moved by them. Reading them, I recalled two very special men that I want to tell you about. When I met Dionysio in 1983, he was already in a vegetative state. His body was wracked, inside and out, with ulcers. He bled from his mouth, rectum and urinary tract. No one knew if he felt pain in this state but I suspect that he did. I was 5 months' pregnant and showing on the day that I met him. In order to be admitted into his room I was required to wear surgical scrubs and a mask, according to the nursing staff. Strict warnings were there in that ward--that _gay ward_--of the hospital, where all of the men were dying from a disease that no one was quite sure yet how it passed from one person to another, or so we were told. With this warning I stood on the side of the room, and watched my husband embrace his comatose Godfather; weeping, kissing this man who loved him so very much. I cannot tell you the feelings that ran through my mind--the sadness, mixed with uncertainty and guilt--here I am in hospital scrubs because of a stern nurse, yet my husband is touching, kissing, caressing this poor man; this man that no one in the hospital really wanted to go near. Too overcome I went into the waiting area where I comforted his life partner, who was weeping inconsolably. When he died, it was difficult for his family to find an untertaker to take him. No one wanted the business of the Gay Man, even though business was suddenly bustling. Even in death, there was no end to the suffering in those dark days. Such was my initiation to the world of the Gay American. Seven years later, I worked with a man named Keith, who was dying from AIDs. He should have been getting far more medical care than he was getting, should have been on assistance and yet there he was, quietly vomiting into his wastebasket at work while trying to perform customer service duties because Social Services kept turning him away. All of his co-workers, except me, were afraid to approach him; none of them wanted to use the bathroom after he'd been in it. No one wanted to go near his desk to see how he was doing. No one would dare pick up his telephone and use it, except for me; by that time in my life, I'd been educated. I was pregnant at that time as well (I popped kids out pretty regularly in the `80's) and when my daughter was born, I proudly put her into his arms to show her off. By that time I'd known this man for only a few months; I saw the dignity and the despair of his existence--I'd go to the train station to pick him up in the morning, once cab drivers stopped picking up the man with Kaposi's Sarcoma on his face and neck and hands. Like a modern-day leper he was rejected and reviled simply by being alive, simply by existing. And I loved him with all of my heart. I rooted for him. We discussed books (he was a fan of Koontz, I a fan of King) and traded stories of our glory days, I when I was a single lass and he, back when he was healthy. He told me of his struggles with the law, when he tried to shoplift groceries because his entire paycheck had been used for medication. He told me with a laugh. He figured if he were put in jail, at least he would get fed. It felt as though he wanted to tell me about him so that when he was gone, someone would remember him. By the time I'd met him he had no one, not even his own parents. And I do. I remember him. Specific details fade as I get older, but I carry him with me, I tell people about him. I remind people that he existed. He mattered. He had a lot to teach about grace and love and selflessness and joy and sorrow. He faced Death with both sorrow and relief. He died weeks after he held my infant daughter, too weak to continue. I was glad that one of the last things he did in his life, was tenderly hold a new life. It was as if in that moment, he passed his torch. These two men, to me, are the face of AIDs. They are the face of bravery; they are the face of grace and of fighting to beat the odds. If I didn't meet these men I honestly think that when I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in 1993, I would have simply shrivelled and given up; I remember during physical therapy, learning how to walk with a cane, almost being able to hear Keith tell me that if he could go through what he went through, then what I was going through was a walk in the park so I better not give up. These men are the ones that the "religious right" abandoned. 'Love your fellow man,' they say; then they drag their feet so that more of them die. 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you' they say, then they scream 'faggot' and beat teenagers to death. What's so right about the Religious Right? I've been trying to figure that one out since 1983. Ginny http://www.ginnysanchez.com . | Permalink 2009 RuCo, Inc.—All Rights Reserved |
Appearances |
||
