Graham, Young arrested in Washing- ton, D.C., at ... - CD8 T cells
Graham, Young arrested in Washing- ton, D.C., at ... - CD8 T cells
Graham, Young arrested in Washing- ton, D.C., at ... - CD8 T cells
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2<br />
T-Neg<strong>at</strong>ive<br />
EDITORIAL<br />
TrekBearGA@aol.com<br />
I Shall Miss Lov<strong>in</strong>g Him<br />
It’s one th<strong>in</strong>g to grieve for all the many loved ones<br />
you’ve lost to AIDS. It’s another th<strong>in</strong>g entirely<br />
to start mourn<strong>in</strong>g for someone who isn’t even<br />
dead yet.<br />
For nearly a decade, I was a member of the<br />
Atlanta Gay Men’s Chorus. It was just a couple of<br />
weeks before our annual Pride concert several years<br />
ago, with only a few rehearsals still scheduled for<br />
our upcom<strong>in</strong>g performance of When We No Longer<br />
Touch—A Cycle of Songs for Survival, a work compris<strong>in</strong>g<br />
seven movements. My lover, who was HIV+,<br />
and I had gone out the night before and he had spent<br />
the night over. He knew I had a rehearsal the next<br />
morn<strong>in</strong>g and asked if it would be okay for him to<br />
sleep <strong>in</strong> and wait for me to get back. This was dur<strong>in</strong>g<br />
an early stage <strong>in</strong> our rel<strong>at</strong>ionship, only a month<br />
or so after we had f<strong>in</strong>ally declared our mutual love<br />
for each other after hav<strong>in</strong>g d<strong>at</strong>ed for about three<br />
months. As I got showered and dressed quietly, he<br />
lay <strong>in</strong> bed soundly asleep. All I really wanted to do<br />
<strong>at</strong> th<strong>at</strong> moment was to crawl back <strong>in</strong>to bed with him,<br />
snuggle <strong>in</strong>to his warm embrace and drift off to sleep<br />
with him together. It was a huge effort to force myself<br />
to get up and leave. I kneeled by his side of the<br />
bed where he was lay<strong>in</strong>g with his back side towards<br />
me, gently put my arms around him, laid my head<br />
fl<strong>at</strong> between his shoulders, whispered “I love you”<br />
<strong>in</strong>to his ear, stroked and kissed the back of his head<br />
and then quietly left for rehearsal. I half-hoped he<br />
would still be asleep when I got back so I could get<br />
back <strong>in</strong>to bed with him.<br />
Dur<strong>in</strong>g the previous two months, the chorus<br />
had rehearsed the various movements of When We<br />
No Longer Touch <strong>in</strong> random order, focus<strong>in</strong>g on portions<br />
of sections th<strong>at</strong> needed special <strong>at</strong>tention. As<br />
with most concerts, a sense of cont<strong>in</strong>uity never really<br />
m<strong>at</strong>erializes until just before the performance<br />
d<strong>at</strong>e, when you start rehears<strong>in</strong>g “run-throughs”—<br />
start<strong>in</strong>g <strong>at</strong> the beg<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g and runn<strong>in</strong>g the show<br />
straight through to the f<strong>in</strong>ale. This particular S<strong>at</strong>urday<br />
morn<strong>in</strong>g rehearsal was one of our first runthroughs,<br />
where we focused more on artistry than<br />
on technicality. When We No Longer Touch is one of<br />
those rare works where the totality of the piece is<br />
gre<strong>at</strong>er than the sum of its parts, and on this particular<br />
morn<strong>in</strong>g, we took it from the top. Poignant<br />
and pa<strong>in</strong>ful songs of fear and loss are followed by<br />
songs of grief and hope. In a classic case of not<br />
hav<strong>in</strong>g seen the forest for the trees, the impact of<br />
the entire piece hit me hard halfway through it. It<br />
was near the end of the sixth movement th<strong>at</strong> I f<strong>in</strong>ally<br />
fell apart:<br />
I shall miss lov<strong>in</strong>g you<br />
I shall miss the Comfort of your embrace<br />
I shall miss the<br />
Lonel<strong>in</strong>ess of wait<strong>in</strong>g for the<br />
Eric L. W<strong>at</strong>ts<br />
calls th<strong>at</strong> never came<br />
I shall miss the Joy of your com<strong>in</strong>gs<br />
and the Pa<strong>in</strong> of your go<strong>in</strong>gs<br />
and,<br />
after a time,<br />
I shall miss<br />
miss<strong>in</strong>g<br />
lov<strong>in</strong>g<br />
you<br />
I shall miss lov<strong>in</strong>g you<br />
I shall miss the<br />
Comfort and,<br />
after a time<br />
I shall miss<br />
miss<strong>in</strong>g<br />
lov<strong>in</strong>g<br />
you<br />
I was already miss<strong>in</strong>g him when I got to rehearsal.<br />
He was on my m<strong>in</strong>d while we rehearsed<br />
these songs. Because these songs were about the<br />
loss of a loved one, I couldn’t help but to s<strong>in</strong>g these<br />
songs as if I were s<strong>in</strong>g<strong>in</strong>g about my loved one. Wh<strong>at</strong><br />
would I do if—when—he died? How could I face<br />
life without him? I shall miss lov<strong>in</strong>g you.... I completely<br />
lost all composure and broke down right<br />
there, <strong>in</strong> the middle of the rehearsal, a big, f<strong>at</strong>, 225pound<br />
sissy, wip<strong>in</strong>g tears off my face with a hanky<br />
and cover<strong>in</strong>g my mouth to stop sobb<strong>in</strong>g. It was one<br />
of the most embarrass<strong>in</strong>g moments of my life—and<br />
yet, one of the most powerful. Never before and<br />
never s<strong>in</strong>ce have I been so powerfully moved by a<br />
piece of music. Never before and never s<strong>in</strong>ce have I<br />
cried... for the liv<strong>in</strong>g.<br />
The man around whom my entire life had begun<br />
to revolve was <strong>in</strong>to his fifth year of be<strong>in</strong>g HIV+.<br />
Although he was fully asymptom<strong>at</strong>ic and <strong>in</strong> otherwise<br />
perfect health <strong>at</strong> the time, how much longer<br />
could I reasonably expect th<strong>at</strong> to cont<strong>in</strong>ue? By th<strong>at</strong><br />
time, I had already buried so many friends and loved<br />
ones... so how could I possibly th<strong>in</strong>k of our rel<strong>at</strong>ionship<br />
<strong>in</strong> any terms other than... temporary?<br />
It’s been ten years s<strong>in</strong>ce th<strong>at</strong> emotional breakdown,<br />
and <strong>in</strong> th<strong>at</strong> time, I’ve lost far too many more<br />
friends and loved ones to this dreadful disease. But<br />
amaz<strong>in</strong>gly enough, the man who lay <strong>in</strong> my bed th<strong>at</strong><br />
memorable morn<strong>in</strong>g oh so long ago is not one of<br />
them. At least, not yet. Halfway through his second<br />
decade of liv<strong>in</strong>g with HIV, he rema<strong>in</strong>s healthy and<br />
asymptom<strong>at</strong>ic. How much longer does he have? How<br />
much longer do we have? Will we grow old together?<br />
I don’t know. But these questions cont<strong>in</strong>ue to haunt<br />
me every day, and every night, I pray th<strong>at</strong> a cure is<br />
found before I learn the answers.<br />
“I Shall Miss Lov<strong>in</strong>g You” from When We No Longer Touch—A Cycle<br />
of Songs for Survival; lyrics by Peter Williams, music by Kris Anthony.<br />
Rob Nixon ...................... Manag<strong>in</strong>g Editor<br />
Eric L. W<strong>at</strong>ts .... Editor & Graphic Designer<br />
Circul<strong>at</strong>ion ............................................................... 3,300<br />
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