ODC News Letter
January 2010 News Letter -
A Closer Look At David Roesler!
Old News Letters...
Bill
Auntie M Auntie M it's a twister
The vortex of emotion was beginning to form. The cloud of memories began to swirl overhead. Parts of my life cast aside long ago now raged through my consciousness. Bits and pieces of my history that alone were not earth shattering rolled into one combined to form the force that carved my new path in life.
…The symphony of smells has begun to play. The orgy of tastes has begun to unfold. The ham glistening the lasagna so thick, the butter slowly melting on the oh so creamy whipped potatoes, but they all must bow to the entrance of the golden star of the show. Before Tom arrives the aroma fills the room. The enchanting perfume signals the once a year culinary fantasy to begin.
Through the years a side dish of inappropriate humor has always been served. Unknown to anyone but myself this one was slopped directedly on my plate, and my plate alone. It could have been titled "the fag flue", or "the good thing about Aids". As the poison venom spewed from my aunt's lips a new fantasy took hold. I heard every word of her "joke", as I envisioned an appropriate response. Avoiding the moist as can be apple walnut stuffing, and the candied yams, I could leap over the table and with the unneeded salad fork I could stop her infernal rambling with a surgical strike to the temple. Although very satisfying in my mind, I decided against taking action. Instead I let her show her true colors thereby keeping my new secret. Who am I kidding I would have tripped over the gravy.
…My place in the company seemed more then secure. Just one more employee of the month award. A large raise and promotion . Many "good job back slaps", and one misguided butt smack of approval. To many acknowledgments to count. It seemed safe. I seemed safe. My future finally seemed worth protecting. I inquired about long-term disability insurance. With this I was also straightforward with my condition. I was fired two weeks later.
…The bright white lights, the smell of clean. Clean sheets, clean gowns, sterile everything, the busied staff, a dizzying array for someone in such pain. The calming nature of the compassionate attending physician was reassuring as he diagnosed the swelling on my temple. The slight lull in the hectic pace gave me a moment to remind him of my condition. I had told reception, and the nurses, but hadn't had an opportunity to tell him to this point. He politely exited, only to return resembling a cross between a welder and a HASMAT spill cleaner. His ensuing diagnosis changed dramatically from his original. I was now free to go. No treatment, no tests, no follow-up, no goodbye, no kidding.…Softball was a way of life. It gave us a chance to pretend we were athletes. A bunch of guys who fell short of college and the pros that still had a competitive spirit. Even if bar hopping after the games were the true motivation, we became a team. We became a very good team. We bonded in tournaments through out the country. L.A, Boston, Atlanta to name a few. We became a cohesive unit. That is until '92. Our pitcher fell ill. Shortly after he died. Soon followed our third baseman. A few months after our right fielder made a throw, which broke his brittle bone between his elbow and wrist in two, he passed as well. By '94 half the team was gone, but not Ronny and I. We were almost twins. We became stronger, and fatter and more inseparable as the years went on. That was until the argument.
I am not sure who was to blame, probably me, but the result was we hadn't seen each other for a year. There he was. He knew I was sick but never mentioned he was too. There he was, my friend, my brother. We looked alike. We acted alike. We thought alike, and there he was. But it couldn't be him. He had to be a hundred pounds lighter. His eyes were sunk in. His cheeks were gone. There he was, just bones and skin.
I knew he was still breathing, I saw it in the respirator. I knew his heart was still beating for I saw the faint blips in the monitor above. As I grabbed his hand, I prayed he knew I was there. I knew I was to late, but I said I was sorry any way. He too, was gone the next morning.
…The bright light cast a shadow upon the otherwise dimly lit room reminiscent of an interrogation scene from N.Y.P.D. blue. This wasn't a crime drama, but my kitchen. This wasn't a detective I was talking to, but my mother.
The scene was familiar, the same chairs and the same light that were present at other life changing declarations. Coming out, leaving home, etc. But this was different. This was harder, much harder. As the sweat began to flow, my mind attempted to concoct an easier way, but there was none. There is no easy way to tell your mother, the woman who would walk through fire for you, that she would most likely outlive you. In her eyes a parent should not outlive her child, but this is the way it was going to be.To most the kindergarten picture in crayon hanging on the fridge was bewildering lines nowhere near they're boundaries. Not to her. To her it was a Picasso. Simple graduations were trumpeted as Everest climbings. The world revolved around her kids. And most probably, she would bury this one.
The thought of revealing the truth of my condition brought horror to me. Although she knew of the four cursed letters, I needed to explain they now applied to me. As I explained, the expected tears never flowed from her face, just a look of total shock and pain. A part of her world will someday slip away. This showed in her look, which burned into my memory, the look of helplessness, that look of pain. That look that I caused.
…Among the swirling thoughts are hundreds of unknowns. How do you tell your partner? Will your soul mate leave? If the choice is to stay, Will you inflict the love of your life with this plague?
… The pills, the side effects, the exhaustion, all taking they're toll.
The ability to work is fading, my career slipping away.
…Remembering those who have gone bring to the forefront your own mortality. When is it my turn? Is this the cold that turns into the reaper? When I'm gone what will I miss? I'm supposed to take care of my partner, my mother, my cats and dog. What happens to them? My responsibilities to my friends, and my family all unfulfilled.
This hailstorm of thoughts was pelting my memory. These lightning strikes of emotion were reawakening my mind. Swirling through my head were the smells and the sights, the sounds and the touch. The thunderous rush, recalling events as if they happened yesterday. The indecencies, the prejudice, the discrimination, the anger, the hate, the denial, the forgiveness, the compassion, the friendship the kindness, the love and the fear, all brought back at once. What brought on this tempest? The answer is a simple question. Although the question was simple, the answer was not. The question was, Has AIDS changed your life. The answer is yes, in every conceivable way. The way I live, the way I breathe, and the way I think. It's changed my view on life and my view on death. I now see life as short, so you must make the most of every moment. Find a way to leave your mark. When life throws obstacles in your path, find a way to get over them and move on.
The storm is coming but you don't know when, you can just hold on for as long as you can.
