by Alexis McKenzie
Seeing the AIDS memorial quilt was a "growing" experience for me. All of a sudden, the victims of this disease were no longer statistics, but friends, and lovers, mothers and uncles. Each one with individual interests, talents, and friends-- all lost to the same, fatal virus. Each panel of the quilt reflected a person's passions and personality, and was forever embalmed with the pain and love their family and friends felt in their absence.
The most heart-wrenching panels were ones that said 'I Miss You, Mommy' or 'Beloved Son'. I thought of children who had lost thier mothers, small children, with delicate, flawless innocence who had to suddenly grow up and had to be mature enough to accept the fact that their mother could no longer hold them and play. I can only imagine the grief of the parents of AIDS victims. Parents who had watched this person begin their life, and never expected to see them resign from it also.
The messages loved ones wrote on these quilt panels touched me deeply. One that struck me read: "I always thought I'd look back on the times we cried and laugh, but I never dreamt I'd look back on the times we laughed and cry."
When I look back on my experience of viewing the quilt, the emotion that I felt there was love. Love of the strongest kind, glazed with a coat of sadness. The compassion and care and spiritual strength echoed through the hockey arena where I saw the quilt displayed, was stronger than the impact of hearing the names being read into the microphone.
And now I realize that the most painful grieving should be for what was not present in Thompson Arena that day. The AIDS victims who were rejected by fearful and angry families or were left alone by lovers who'd already passed on or gays who were dismissed by society with disgust. Victims who died in barren hospital rooms, with no one holding them, and are now as anonymous as a few thousand grains of sand at the bottom of the ocean. There were no panels made for them. They died in silence and secrecy. The pain didn't lie in the names tearfully read over the intercom, but in the silence between each name, for all the names that were not being read.
Whether or not we are ever able to defeat this disease, we CAN overrule prejudice and hatred. By keeping an open mind and continuing to learn the truth about this heartbreaking disease, we can strive to see every life cherished like the names on the quilt.
-In memory all of the victims who's love is not sewn in the threads of
the AIDS memorial quilt.
What do you think?
[smashing pinata love] [bel canto] [youth]