Before anyone thinks too highly of me I need to tell you not just what I did in caring for those young men; boys if you will. It is important to tell you who I was at that time. This was a very low point in my spiritual practice, having drifted away from a regular consistent daily devotion. I was also was filled to overflowing with anger.
At the time I was not mature enough or wise enough to understand what the effect of that anger had on my life, or even the deep causes. Anger was my constant companion during this time.
Part of my anger was how I processed my disillusionment over the failure of society twice in my life. I harbored a very deep-seated anger over Vietnam and the terrible loss of life, many of which were my friends. I was angry over the way society treated the veterans of that time.
It was bad enough processing the hurt of Vietnam now here was a terrible disease that was taking the lives of many young people, some famous and many who were just ordinary people trying to live a life. There was no place for these people anymore and virtually every organization, department of government, or religious organization turned their backs on these modern day lepers.
I didn’t want to be caring for dying boys, many who were younger than I was. I was angry that it should be up to me, I wanted to be left alone but mostly I wanted people to just do the right thing and care for one another. I wasn’t angry at the sick I was angry that there was no help.
I did not understand at the time that grief too expresses itself in anger; being one of the stages of grief. Not knowing this, not understanding the nature of anger and not seeing it in my own life led to some poor processing skills. How is it possible for someone to process what they are unaware of, know nothing about, and really isn’t even trying; reacting instead of responding.
Chuck, a young boy age 23 when he first became sick continued to work at his job making decent money. He was renting a very large house and had several roommates and a lot of friends. When I was first introduced to him he had just been fired because his employer found out or suspected that he had AIDS. As his money began to run out and he became sicker one by one his circle of friends began to shrink. Yes, we gay people treated ourselves pretty poorly.
Eventually he needed to move from his large home to a very small one bedroom shack. I say shack because it was barely more than that. He had sold off many of his possessions so he would have enough money to pay the rent for several months. After a few weeks Chuck was no longer able to get out of bed very much. I would go over to visit almost daily and he would ask me to move things around outside so that his landlord wouldn’t know he was bed bound and possibly evict him for having AIDS.
Chuck’s mother had disowned him and refused to see him when she found out he was sick, but his grandmother was still in his life. One day when he was quite so sick I managed to get him into the car for a day trip to visit his grandmother. I dropped him off so they could spend some time together and then returned later in the day.
I won’t go into the gory details of providing medical care for Chuck, except to say this was the worst case and the hardest. Chuck ended up being the last person I for whom I provided care for several years until I healed some. Chuck’s illness got much worse shortly after that.
It was at this time the hospital in San Diego just opened up a 5 bed AIDS unit to provide care for those who could get in. This was such a huge deal and the beginning of a societal change in the treatment of AIDS and the care for those affected. Chuck was fortunate to be admitted to the unit.
On the second night of his stay I stopped by to visit. It had been a very long day for me on my job; I had worked 36 hours running a printing press working on a very important job. While I was visiting Chuck that night I fell asleep in the chair. I am not sure how long I was asleep but when I woke up Chuck lay their very peaceful, he looked at me and said “why don’t you go on home now. I’ll be alright.”
Even now, as I write this, tears come to my eyes. This was the last thing he said. According to the nurse who called me shortly after at home (before cell phones and instant communication) to tell me that he died just a few minutes after I left. That was hard so very hard. The next day I called his grandmother who was too ill to leave her home to tell her that I would be arranging for his cremation and burial. I knew she wouldn’t be able to come, heck nobody would probably come.
On the day of his burial his mother showed up wanting to know where his things were so she could get her inheritance. I told her there wasn’t anything and got very upset with her for her treatment of her son. Actually upset is putting it mildly.
After Chuck I couldn’t do it any more for several years. I withdrew from being involved in the caring for the sick. It was also at this time that my partner and I moved to Charlotte and began our lives here.
Let me share with you briefly what my life looked like at the time. As an expression of my anger and hurt and all the mixed up emotions I had I engaged in very dangerous and reckless motorcycle ridding. I also had a very short temper, which would come out in interactions with other people. I would drive my motorcycle at very high speeds, in excess of 90MPH. I think I was trying to outrun the pain and the hurt. I know as I was doing it my emotions vacillated between fear of my own death, a desire to make it all go away, and a complete sense of helplessness.
I worked as a printing press operator something I was very good doing. I was very skilled and highly sought after for a few years. My anger would seep into my way of being at work as well. I would be short tempered with my bosses and at the slightest provocation I would fly off the handle and say some pretty unskillful things. In some instances my work was valued enough that it was overlooked but eventually it couldn’t be tolerated.
Sleeping became problematic for me. I would stay awake all night, not being able to fall asleep. Consequently I would be sleepy at work and even sometimes sleeping through work being unable to wake up on time. I got fired from one very lucrative job because of that. Things never really improved.
Fortunately drugs and alcohol were never a problem for me. Even as miserable as I felt I always preferred feeling that way to the effects of drugs and alcohol. I had an early experience with both so I knew what they were like. When I was in college I tried to keep up with my fraternity brothers in their drinking. Fortunately for me I have what I call a mild allergic reaction to alcohol and am unable to get past the second drink without becoming very nauseated, loosing my sense of balance, and aching joints are some of my reactions to alcohol. As for drugs I did use some in college as well as when I was in the Marine Corps, but they were never a big part of my life and joy.
As you can plainly see there was nothing remarkable about my life during all of this. I simply did what needed to be done and barely survived doing it. Things did change fortunately. I was able to find my way back to peace and sanity. I also learned more skillful ways of doing something that in my heart I really did fell connected to; caring for the sick and dying.
Perhaps you have not experienced anything like I have. If you have I would appreciate your comments.
