I posted this a year ago, and have reread it several times since then. Last year, 9/11 was kind of overshadowed by the aftermath of Katrina, but this diary is one that I poured alot of myself into. Nothing has changed - the loss of people close to our hearts is permanent, painful, and unwavering. So, forget the rules, I'm putting this up again as a tribute to those closest to me who I've lost:
9/11 will always be a day of remembering the people who lost their lives that tragic day. Through whatever fortune, I did not lose anyone personally that day, although I know some people who were in the shadow of the Towers when the planes struck. This date now triggers in me strong memories of all of the people in my life who I have lost, and how those people have shaped me into the person that I am today. I hope to share with you a few of those people, and maybe hear from some of you about lost loved ones who have shifted the path of your life as well.
My first encounter with death was my friend and ex-boyfriend, Ken. Ken took me on my first road trip from NC to Key West as a gay man. It was Spring Break, and I was not out to most of my friends. I remember holding hands with Ken and walking down Duval Street - my first gay PDA. I passed two of my fraternity brothers who did not see/recognize me - we weren't close brothers, and I didn't know they were even there with their girlfriends on Spring Break! My heart stopped a few beats as they moved by.
We stayed in touch, but I moved away and was in another relationship that was 3 years old and unhappy. I got a phone call saying that Ken had been murdered in his home at the age of 24. At the time, I was battling my current boyfriend for some independence - I wanted to work with the AIDS community, but my boyfriend was scared (it was 1994). Realizing how time was slipping past me, I took initiative to sever that relationship. My new job with the National HIV/AIDS Hotline didn't pay well, but I felt I was giving back to the community that Ken had introduced me into, and it felt RIGHT.
At the Hotline, I met many people who were HIV+. My best friend there was Mark, who I got very close to before he revealed his HIV+ status. This was in the days before the cocktails that allow people to lead SO much longer and more productive lives than was the case in 1994. Mark only told a tiny number of people of his condition, but at the Hotline, any changes in physical appearance were universally attributed to HIV. Usually, as in Mark's case, the assumption was unfortunately correct. I visited Mark at Duke Hospital the day before he passed away. He couldn't talk, so I just sat holding his hand and chatting with him about that same things we always talked about. I remember him squeezing my hand when I made some lewd comment about Dean Cain.
When Mark died, I decided the Hotline was not enough, and I interviewed with a job caring for people in the local AIDS Hospice. Incidently, the man who interviewed me for that position 11 years ago today now shares my house with me in NC - along with the boyfriend he'd met only a month before. We've become best of friends, even as I move around the country on my current Travel Nursing gig.
At the AIDS Hospice, I met Hospice Nurses for the first time. I'm a Psych Major who had no clear path in life at that point. I fell in love with the work those people were doing, and decided I needed to be in their profession. Prerequisite classes started within the year, but were disrupted when I decided to move to TX to fall in love.
My ex-partner in TX will always have a special place in my heart, but his mother holds at least as big a spot. She took me under her wing in that strange new city (San Antonio) and treated me like one of her own. I was "hijo" just as much as James was, and she was NOT a shy woman to get in peoples' faces if they were derogitory toward us or gays in general. She went to a fantastic AIDS Medicine and Miracles conference in Houston with us, and everyone there knew who Ramona was by the end of it.
Late in 1998, Ramona began to show symptoms that looked like a stroke, but did not progress in a pattern normal for such a diagnosis. The doctors did not know, after multiple tests, exactly what was going on. I was half way through Nursing School at this point, working part time for a local Hospice organization with the goal of full time RN employment there afterward. When the diagnosis was made, the tumor was far too advanced for treatment.
At Ramona's funeral, literally a thousand people showed to pay respects. She was well off, and it turned out that she was helping to financially supporting close to 30 single Hispanic mothers in the neighborhood surrounding the grocery store she and her husband ran. No one knew about this. She was so active within the community, taking part in lawsuits which helped to raise predominantly Hispanic schools toward the same levels as other schools in San Antonio. She was a brilliant, giving woman.
I decided then to refocus my Nursing efforts toward Oncology in Ramona's memory. To this day I wear the watch she gave me for Christmas years ago to remind of why I am doing the work I am still doing today. I have been working with Oncology patients for over <strike>five</strike> six years now, and sadly that also encompasses quite a bit of palliative and in-patient hospice care. For me, I cannot imagine a more fulfilling job, and I honestly do not know if I would ever have arrived where I am today without the input of these three people.
So, wherever you are, Ken, Mark, and Ramona - thanks for shaping me into someone I am proud of. I couldn't, or wouldn't, have done it without you. And you are all greatly loved and missed.