When I first heard the word AIDS, it was in the early 80s and in reference to a mysterious disease that gay men had somehow been singled out to be afflicted with. At first, I don’t even think it had a name. Obviously, it was a gay curse.
Years passed and I watched all of the AIDS related movies. I cried when visiting the AIDS quilt that made a stop in Utah. And yes, I was both delighted and surprised that it came to Zion.
After deciding to have a child, an AIDS test was first on the list for a donor. And that first potential donor tested positive for HIV. I believe that secretly he already knew, but didn’t want to face it. I went on with my life, and that family member of a friend went on with his life, which eventually included massive drug use and eventually suicide by a heroin overdose.
He had become mean and angry and bitter. And I thought it was because of the drugs. And maybe it was. But I look back and wonder if I was too harsh on that man. Would he have ever started taking drugs if he hadn’t been handed a death sentence (which AIDS was at that time)?
I wish I would have known him before AIDS, for I fear I have judged too harshly.
