My birthday is January 12,1950 and I burst into tears when I read that Tim had my birthday . I felt an immediate kinship with him and was shaken by your piece. Tears are rare for me at this age and they flowed today. Thank you for remembering that dark time. We have come a long way since then for sure.
I agree. We have to tell the stories. People are already forgetting what Covid was like at the height of the pandemic. And people are still contracting HIV. The drugs make the virus manageable, but it's still a thing, and there's a lack of awareness that safer sex practices, for one, will lessen the risks. And the people who were lost...so much talent, kindness and love gone missing. It was quite a time. xo
Goodness and compassion are gifts you give as you write each week so elegantly. I feel your presence and I am always proud of your courage to tell the truth. I remember Stan, Tim and Sid then, who, as you did, kept their commitment to comfort and care for their friends.
At that time I worked at Bloomingdales Interior Design Department where many of our staff lost their lives to AIDS, never knowing who was next.
It seems so long ago. It seems like yesterday. The goodness in us, our ability to hate out of fear. The love and support some had. Lives, isolated and yearning, others led. All the colors of humanity, the beauty, the ugly. We need to remember. You helped us remember. You continue to serve and to save.
Yes to both. I was talking to someone today about how unbelievable it is to me that all of this happened 40 years ago. How did I get so old? All of us? If Tim had lived, he'd be a month away from his 75th birthday. So very sad that he didn't get to age along with us. xo
A beautiful ode to your friend. When I read about his family, I said ‘yes, that’s what true Christianity is about, love’. I also got a lump in my throat at the part where you said he died before treatment became available that’d have saved his life… So many who weren’t saved and many who are lucky to have it available.
Like others here, I was brought to tears by your writing, how your telling of one, intimate story illuminates the vast, larger one it was part of. You took me back to those days in the 80's, to the fear so many of us who were young felt, even if we were straight. You took me back to Makkai's The Great Believers, and to Randy Shilts's And the Band Played On. You took me to the early days of Covid, another epidemic managed by a morally bankrupt president. You took me to the schools I've served, losing battles of another kind. Powerful storytelling, witness-bearing, living.
Rita, thank you. I've not read Makkai's book, but it's come up a lot lately, so I'll read, just ordered it. I have read Randy Shilts's though. I was likening the fear to what we all just recently experienced with Covid. I miss so many people from the 80s. It was such a weird time. There was so much fear, and yet, we partied, played, though I played it safe and got tested often, once that became a possibility. Morally bankrupt leaders have hurt all of us, and yet, they keep getting elected. I wonder what that's about. I became an HIV educator in the early aughts, working for Planned Parenthood. HIV/AIDS is still a thing, though certainly not as life-threatening. Safer sex is still something we all have to practice. AIDS in the 80s was absolutely devastating. xo
The story Makkai tells is so much like the one you’ve told here. I think we’ve collectively done with AIDS what we’re in the process of doing with Covid: Ignoring a huge trauma. Makkai’s story (and now yours) showed me a part of the larger story that many of us couldn’t see or know. It’s a story we need to know.
Yes. I agree. When Covid happened, I prayed it wasn't going to be like AIDS/HIV was. We lost way too many people in both cases. I'm looking forward to reading her book. Thanks for recommending. xo
Nan, this story is at once beautiful and heartbreaking. Thank you for caring deeply and well in your friend’s deepest time of need. Thank you for sharing Tim with us. His plans for his own memorial alone paint him as a person I would have loved to know.
I think you would have loved him, yes. I miss him. If he’d have lived he’d be a month away from his 75th birthday. He’s completely frozen in time. As I was writing the essay I was 24 again. xo
Nan, this moved me to tears. What a beautiful tribute to Tim in this essay. This line: "He had no clue how to let love in." But you know how to let love in, with your generous spirit. This story captures why it is so important we continue to love each other in all our glorious diversity.
It’s hard for me to let love in, too. I’m getting better at it. I’m finally learning that I’m worthy of it. I didn’t feel that way for most of my life. Thank you for reading and commenting, Amy. Sending you love. xo
I've been on the road with sketchy Wi-Fi, and I was finally able to read this essay. Nan, every piece I read of yours touches me in some way. This post pierced my heart with its feltness. The horror of that time, the sadness, your generous and kind heart, and the love moved me to tears.
Oh, Nan. Such a beautiful tribute to someone who meant so much to you. Love and grief: both are profound and lasting responses to a friend you cared for during his radiant live, his sickness, and ultimately, his death. I lost gay friends during the 80s, and a close family member. Everyone was touched by AIDS. But I don’t know anyone who would have given as you did, with your big heart. Thank you for telling this story. It’s one we all need to hear. Love to you. xoxo
Thank you, Mary. Unfortunately, I have more than one Tim story. There were a lot of men I loved and lost to AIDS. It was such a hard season. I learned a lot about myself and human nature. I learned we all take care of ourselves differently when faced with a crisis. I did get to a point where I had to stop. It took a toll. I left New York City and moved to the country for a break, kind of. I moved upstate to go to nursing school as a result of my involvement in the 80s. I found out I had no interest in becoming a nurse, but I loved it here so much that I stayed. The first person I met when I came up here was a lovely man who had AIDS and was dying. He needed someone to give him injections, his boyfriend was too squeamish to do it. So I did. Life follows you wherever you go, doesn't it? I've lived up here for almost 33 years. I don't know that I would have ever left the city if it wasn't for the crisis. It changed a lot of things for me.
I think this is my favorite piece of yours. The details and the description and what it says about you and your heart. I remember those years and how little we knew and how fearful we were. So you were pretty courageous along with with being so generous of heart.
Thank you, lovely Nancy. I’m glad you liked it. I don’t think it’s my favorite, but I’ve wanted to tell it for so long. There will be a part two…about the Balls in Cherry Grove, the one that took place after Tim died. It was an amazing night.
I was in Seattle in the 80’s. My brother helped me come out. He and his friends gave me my life, while they began losing theirs.
I will never forget the fabulous parties, the inclusion, usually being the only dyke. The feeling of being in a Family that looked after one another as best we could. Couch surfing due to mashups, breakups and endless drama.
Ronald Regan murdered my brothers. I will never go back and I will never forget.
I hear you and I completely relate to all of it. I often felt like an honorary gay boy...some of the guys even called me that. Ronald Reagan was a scourge. Thank goddess for the activism, ACT UP, especially. We are not going back. Never.
Nan, thank you. With tears streaming down my cheeks, and blurred vision, I’m grateful for your sharing of Tim. What a human! Thank you for sharing him with us.
The early 80’s were very scary years. I too lost many friends, (gay and not) and it felt like a viral beast was moving amongst us all.
We’ve come a long way since then. People living longer lives now, despite having this disease.
I’m glad for the medicines that can help it remain at bay, and I will remember those terrible years.
Yes, to everything you said. They were terrible years. Everything is so different, except for the hatred that is rising again. We need to be out in the world living our truth. No hiding, no shame. xo
My birthday is January 12,1950 and I burst into tears when I read that Tim had my birthday . I felt an immediate kinship with him and was shaken by your piece. Tears are rare for me at this age and they flowed today. Thank you for remembering that dark time. We have come a long way since then for sure.
These stories need to be told. I fear we are in danger of forgetting.
I agree. We have to tell the stories. People are already forgetting what Covid was like at the height of the pandemic. And people are still contracting HIV. The drugs make the virus manageable, but it's still a thing, and there's a lack of awareness that safer sex practices, for one, will lessen the risks. And the people who were lost...so much talent, kindness and love gone missing. It was quite a time. xo
My dear daughter.
Goodness and compassion are gifts you give as you write each week so elegantly. I feel your presence and I am always proud of your courage to tell the truth. I remember Stan, Tim and Sid then, who, as you did, kept their commitment to comfort and care for their friends.
At that time I worked at Bloomingdales Interior Design Department where many of our staff lost their lives to AIDS, never knowing who was next.
Never again, AGAIN.
Thank you. I remember your days at Bloomingdales. It was everywhere for sure.
It seems so long ago. It seems like yesterday. The goodness in us, our ability to hate out of fear. The love and support some had. Lives, isolated and yearning, others led. All the colors of humanity, the beauty, the ugly. We need to remember. You helped us remember. You continue to serve and to save.
Yes to both. I was talking to someone today about how unbelievable it is to me that all of this happened 40 years ago. How did I get so old? All of us? If Tim had lived, he'd be a month away from his 75th birthday. So very sad that he didn't get to age along with us. xo
A beautiful ode to your friend. When I read about his family, I said ‘yes, that’s what true Christianity is about, love’. I also got a lump in my throat at the part where you said he died before treatment became available that’d have saved his life… So many who weren’t saved and many who are lucky to have it available.
Thank you for writing and sharing 💚
Thank you, Sheila. Yes. I wish he'd been saved. But I do think he experienced a transformation and came to understand more fully what love is. xo
Like others here, I was brought to tears by your writing, how your telling of one, intimate story illuminates the vast, larger one it was part of. You took me back to those days in the 80's, to the fear so many of us who were young felt, even if we were straight. You took me back to Makkai's The Great Believers, and to Randy Shilts's And the Band Played On. You took me to the early days of Covid, another epidemic managed by a morally bankrupt president. You took me to the schools I've served, losing battles of another kind. Powerful storytelling, witness-bearing, living.
Rita, thank you. I've not read Makkai's book, but it's come up a lot lately, so I'll read, just ordered it. I have read Randy Shilts's though. I was likening the fear to what we all just recently experienced with Covid. I miss so many people from the 80s. It was such a weird time. There was so much fear, and yet, we partied, played, though I played it safe and got tested often, once that became a possibility. Morally bankrupt leaders have hurt all of us, and yet, they keep getting elected. I wonder what that's about. I became an HIV educator in the early aughts, working for Planned Parenthood. HIV/AIDS is still a thing, though certainly not as life-threatening. Safer sex is still something we all have to practice. AIDS in the 80s was absolutely devastating. xo
The story Makkai tells is so much like the one you’ve told here. I think we’ve collectively done with AIDS what we’re in the process of doing with Covid: Ignoring a huge trauma. Makkai’s story (and now yours) showed me a part of the larger story that many of us couldn’t see or know. It’s a story we need to know.
Yes. I agree. When Covid happened, I prayed it wasn't going to be like AIDS/HIV was. We lost way too many people in both cases. I'm looking forward to reading her book. Thanks for recommending. xo
Beautiful awful story, Nan. Thank you so much for writing and memorialising Tim. Bless you for your care and compassion ❤️
Thank you, Danielle. I really appreciated your story as well. All the best to you. xo
Nan, everything about this is genuine generous and buoyant amid wrecking heartbreak and you rose and you rise and continue to rise.
A good friend to many
Good on Tim’s family and you so young
An eye opener
I feel I was in a bubble in those years
Thank you
Glad I finally got over here!
Love you, Prajna, Thank you. xo
Nan, this story is at once beautiful and heartbreaking. Thank you for caring deeply and well in your friend’s deepest time of need. Thank you for sharing Tim with us. His plans for his own memorial alone paint him as a person I would have loved to know.
I think you would have loved him, yes. I miss him. If he’d have lived he’d be a month away from his 75th birthday. He’s completely frozen in time. As I was writing the essay I was 24 again. xo
Nan, this moved me to tears. What a beautiful tribute to Tim in this essay. This line: "He had no clue how to let love in." But you know how to let love in, with your generous spirit. This story captures why it is so important we continue to love each other in all our glorious diversity.
It’s hard for me to let love in, too. I’m getting better at it. I’m finally learning that I’m worthy of it. I didn’t feel that way for most of my life. Thank you for reading and commenting, Amy. Sending you love. xo
I've been on the road with sketchy Wi-Fi, and I was finally able to read this essay. Nan, every piece I read of yours touches me in some way. This post pierced my heart with its feltness. The horror of that time, the sadness, your generous and kind heart, and the love moved me to tears.
Right. Back. Atcha.❤️
I love you, Paulette. Thank you for feeling as deeply as you do. xo
Oh, Nan. Such a beautiful tribute to someone who meant so much to you. Love and grief: both are profound and lasting responses to a friend you cared for during his radiant live, his sickness, and ultimately, his death. I lost gay friends during the 80s, and a close family member. Everyone was touched by AIDS. But I don’t know anyone who would have given as you did, with your big heart. Thank you for telling this story. It’s one we all need to hear. Love to you. xoxo
Thank you, Mary. Unfortunately, I have more than one Tim story. There were a lot of men I loved and lost to AIDS. It was such a hard season. I learned a lot about myself and human nature. I learned we all take care of ourselves differently when faced with a crisis. I did get to a point where I had to stop. It took a toll. I left New York City and moved to the country for a break, kind of. I moved upstate to go to nursing school as a result of my involvement in the 80s. I found out I had no interest in becoming a nurse, but I loved it here so much that I stayed. The first person I met when I came up here was a lovely man who had AIDS and was dying. He needed someone to give him injections, his boyfriend was too squeamish to do it. So I did. Life follows you wherever you go, doesn't it? I've lived up here for almost 33 years. I don't know that I would have ever left the city if it wasn't for the crisis. It changed a lot of things for me.
I think this is my favorite piece of yours. The details and the description and what it says about you and your heart. I remember those years and how little we knew and how fearful we were. So you were pretty courageous along with with being so generous of heart.
Thank you, lovely Nancy. I’m glad you liked it. I don’t think it’s my favorite, but I’ve wanted to tell it for so long. There will be a part two…about the Balls in Cherry Grove, the one that took place after Tim died. It was an amazing night.
Thank you for introducing Tim to us. Thank you for the ways you helped him.
Thank you for reading and commenting, Marguerite. I miss you! xo
Wow. Thank you for this piece. It hits close.
I was in Seattle in the 80’s. My brother helped me come out. He and his friends gave me my life, while they began losing theirs.
I will never forget the fabulous parties, the inclusion, usually being the only dyke. The feeling of being in a Family that looked after one another as best we could. Couch surfing due to mashups, breakups and endless drama.
Ronald Regan murdered my brothers. I will never go back and I will never forget.
I hear you and I completely relate to all of it. I often felt like an honorary gay boy...some of the guys even called me that. Ronald Reagan was a scourge. Thank goddess for the activism, ACT UP, especially. We are not going back. Never.
Nan, thank you. With tears streaming down my cheeks, and blurred vision, I’m grateful for your sharing of Tim. What a human! Thank you for sharing him with us.
The early 80’s were very scary years. I too lost many friends, (gay and not) and it felt like a viral beast was moving amongst us all.
We’ve come a long way since then. People living longer lives now, despite having this disease.
I’m glad for the medicines that can help it remain at bay, and I will remember those terrible years.
Yes, to everything you said. They were terrible years. Everything is so different, except for the hatred that is rising again. We need to be out in the world living our truth. No hiding, no shame. xo