On Tuesday night, I attended an off-site symposium at George Washington University sponsored by the Whitman Walker Clinic; its featured speaker was Jeannie White Ginder, mother of Ryan White a teenager with hemophilia and HIV/AIDS who died in 1990.
It was a sobering look back for me and others in the audience. Many may or may not have remembered the media coverage concerning this young person; some in the audience may not have known who The Ryan White CARE Act was named after; some may have forgotten he was befriended by both Elton John and Michael Jackson, who were in attendance at his funeral alongside Jeannie.
In 1990, though I was in the thick of the second wave of the epidemic in San Francisco, to mean close personal friends grew ill and a number died (to whom I bore witness), so much of what was happening beyond the walls of my life seemed a distant memory i.e. the courageous life Ryan lived, the influence his caring and love had on people including the celebrities mentioned.
Jeannie reminded us of her son's struggles, their family’s triumphs, how he touched the lives of John, Michael and others who befriended him, became his champion and saw him through to his death. She reminded the audience loosing someone, how it does not get better, you simply learn to live with the losses, the disappointments, and the let down one experience during those dark times of the epidemic.
I remembered screaming at a friend’s sister (with anger and bitterness), who was never present during the last months of her brother's life (preparing meals, giving baths, changing clothes, cleaning his house), who saw it was her right/duty to tell his caregivers on his last days how she and her family were to proceed with his funeral and his care as his death became imminent.
I recalled a dear friend who clung to his notions of the idealized partner and family, and moving himself back to Southern California anticipating they would be there during his transition. As was often the case, his closes circle of friends were the ones who took turns in going to LA to assume most of his care.
Many of us in those early days, juggled work, took care of friends, participated in street activism, advocacy work with elected officials and health administrators, to channel energy and cope with the very painful lessons life was given us early in our adulthood.
There was Jeannie consoling us, reminding us there were mothers who cared, communities who later rallied to care for others. A mother who lost her son nearly 22 years ago dared to inspire us to have hope in humankind, and renew our commitment to keep on with the struggle. Different and changed the landscape may have become.
This XIX International Conference on HIV/AIDS has not been solely about the advances we've made in science, medicine, and listening in on both local and global challenges faced in addressing the epidemic. It has been also time for reflection, reconnecting with colleagues and friends who are alive, and tempering the enthusiasm that permeates the convention hall. No there is no cure in the immediate or near future; we have better armament for extending life almost to a natural age for those living with HIV/AIDS; we are maybe at the beginning of seeing a vaccine in the horizon; and there are added options (treatment as prevention, better testing technology) in the realm of prevention. 30 years from its beginning, there are measurable changes that have and are taking place.
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