My buddy Jerry died two years ago today

May 11, 2002.

His birthday was May 10th. I was assigned to him as his "buddy" through an AIDS agency I volunteered with. I went on to become the chairman of the agency, and for most of that time, I was Jerry's buddy.

I was terrified when I was first assigned. I didn't know what to do, despite the intensive training. Then I met him, and we became fast friends. At the time, most buddy/client relationships lasted about a year - that's how quickly the clients died. But I was Jerry's buddy for 7 years.

Every Sunday at 10:00am, I was there. Sometimes we'd just hang around and watch movies, but mostly we'd do things that tortured me. He loved fabric stores. He loved craft stores. He loved to steal rocks. BIG fucking rocks. And I was his accomplice in all of it.

He suffered moderately for most of our friendship... then he got real sick real fast. I spent his last 48 hours by his side. We brought him a birthday cake, and he tried to blow out candles. I gave him his morphine. I held his hand. I talked and sang to him.

I miss you Jerry, very very much.

the loss was much greater for others, though. He had a partner who adored him. He had a son whose loss I can't even compare mine to. He came from a family of Jehovah's Witnesses who shunned him in illness and death - and for that I will NEVER forgive the Witnesses. Any one who shows up at my door gets an earful.

But he was one of the sweetest, gentlest men I've ever known. He never complained about his illness - NEVER. Even while dying, he was uncomplaining, and he died a pretty horrible death.

Luckily, he died surrounded by friends and loved-ones. He got to hear his son on the phone a few hours before he died. One of his brothers, despite his family's prohibition, visited him 3 days before he died. He had great in-home hospice care and many people who loved him and cared for him. It was a horrible, yet beautiful, death.

"He came from a family of Jehovah's Witnesses who shunned him in illness and death"

Wow thats just so twisted.

My friend (Jake) got infected by a blood transfusion in the early 80's.. One night he was missing. And we found him lying in a field behind his house. He said he wanted to die alone. A few hours later he died in the bathroom in him mom's arms. He was 17..

I hate that fucking virus.

Joe, 36, caught AIDS because he had allowed himself to be picked up in a bar and had a one-night stand. Afterward, the guy sneeringly told Joe, "I have AIDS and now you have it, too."

Although I never met Joe, I vividly remember when he died because Phil took it quite hard. Despite a full-time (plus) job as a high school English teacher, Phil was there for Joe 24/7 and was at his bedside when Joe passed away.

Phil was actually amazed at how severely Joe's death affected him. At the time, Phil was in his late 40s and thought he knew himself pretty well. There were times I had to do my best to try to make Phil feel better about his loss--not an easy job, considering that he was 20 years older than me and that the toughest loss I had personally experienced had been my grandmother's death 15 years before.

Anyway, Dookus, your reminiscences about Jerry made me recall Phil's time with Joe, so I just thought I'd mention it. :hug:

it's very important that we remember our lost friends.