Life...

Today one of my former student's lost her sister to leukemia. I'd been invited to participate in a swimming fundraiser over the summer, but hadn't been able to make it due to my broken wrist. Now, I wish I'd gone anyway, cheered the swimmers on, contributed some cash, and met the sister.

I lost one of my sister's to cancer, too. 3 years ago in October. Appendix Cancer. It's a rare and tenacious cancer that isn't caught by a blood test. It grows and spreads spore-like within the cavity of the human torso. I'd dreamt about an orange cluster of gelatinous gunk in my sister. When the call came with the diagnosis and I googled the demon within her, sure enough the same orange clusters.

Those of you who know me well, know that I've had many dear ones die and that I often have prescient dreams of those for whom  I feel a close connection.

When I was a child the dreams would come to me when I was awake, as well. Knowing things just before they happened: phone calls, accidents, surprise visits, illness, friends in need and so on. I consciously shut it off during my waking hours. It was too much, especially with bracing for the bad events. As I grew older, the dreams would come sometimes a night before an event, and sometimes 6 months to a year. That is still how it works for me to this very day. When I'm most relaxed, they come  full force and frequently. But those stories will be for another time.

My best friend gave me the framed Life Magazine cover poster pictured above. His name was Alton Belcher. He lived in the apartment one building over from mine on Mirabel Street in Bernal Heights in SF. His partner, Roger, and I used to share gardening tips over the fence between our yards. When Roger got sick, with what turned out to be an advanced stage of AIDS, Alton and I became really close. We practically lived in the AIDS Ward of SF General for the last 10 days of Roger's life. I was given power-of-attorney over Roger, which I thought was odd, as his family was flying in from Ohio. Alton was dealing with the double whammy of discovering that his partner of 10 years was dying of AIDS and that he too was HIV positive, although asymptomatic.

The family arrived from Ohio and I quickly realized why I'd been given the power-of-attorney. The parents were finest kind, but the sisters were evil. Alton and I had been there around the clock for days by this time. After a few civil hours of the sisters arrival, when the parents and Alton were off the floor, they all but threw me up against the wall.

"Get that man out of our brother's room", they shouted at me.

"Why", I wanted to know.

"Because he doesn't belong there," and they started quoting the bible.

"I don't know what kind of God you believe in, but you brother and Alton have been living together for years, parenting your niece and nephew during school vacations, and he is calmed by Alton's presence. I thought God and Jesus believed in love above all else", I blurted out.

They started to threaten me some more. I finally had to push back and let them know that although they might be blood, I was in charge and either they kept things peaceful and loving or I'd kick them out.

Roger died. Alton remained asymptomatic, until he developed an unrelated cancer for which he was genetically predisposed; testicular cancer. He was given months to live.....but then something amazing happened. He fell in love and lived another year and a half!

Alton died on 11 December 1997. He was 38 years old, and although he hadn't taught Art in Piedmont's High School for over 2 years, many students, faculty and the Principal came to the service we held in the garden that Roger started and Alton continued.

I stopped counting how many people I'd known who had died of AIDS, what was first called "the Gay Cancer". The number was 33. John Preston, a gay author, advocate, mentor and the man who suggested I apply to the Radcliffe Publishing Course, was number 32.

Suicides, AIDS and Cancers are the big three life grabbers with my close circle of friends and family.

For you young readers, anti-depressants didn't exist in the main stream until I was in my mid- 20's and taking them wasn't de-stigmatized until my mid-40's. I knew several brilliant friends who thought that they could (pardon the pun) "mind over matter" the chemicals in the brains that didn't allow them to enjoy life. They figured they were hyper-bright and should be able to manage it on their own.

But we all know now that isn't the way depression works. Talking therapy, drug therapy, exercise, diet, and so on are all required to not only survive with it, but be able to thrive with it.

When I took the job teaching in Leominster, a neighborhood nurse, who works in Worcester, said, "Don't drink the water," and I laughed.

She looked at me sternly and again said, "No! Don't drink the water. There are more unexplained genetically bizarre cancers in Leominster and a disproportionate number of common cancers in Leominster. The only common factor is the water. The plastic companies made a mess and supposedly the Super Fund sites have been cleared. But we think the plastics in the water."

In 9 years of working at LHS, I've never bought lunch or drunk the water.

Last year I had a student that I basically taught online as he was discovered to have leukemia within a few months of the start of the school 2013-14 school year. Fortunately, he had bone marrow transplants and he has had hundred of blood transfusions, and he's now in remission. During his time in the hospital and doing work remotely for my class, I assigned him the task of keeping a journal. He submitted the entry to me and I put them in a binder. This year, he has been attending the alternative High School within our school, so that he can continue to work at his own pace (like he was successfully with me and a tutor last year) and budget his growing energies. He comes to see me sometimes and he's been giving me more journal entrees. He doesn't know it, but when he graduates, I'm going to give him the bound book of his journal writings and add a note of my own as he begins a new life.

My former student has been posting very loving and touching notes about the death of her sister.
Her overall message is this: Live each day. You don't know what life is going to bring you. Tell those you love that you love them. Enjoy the day.

When Alton died I was 8 months pregnant. He so desperately wanted to play Uncle to the baby I was carrying. He had grand plans of building puppet theaters, handmade puppets, trips to the Crissy Field with Kodiak (his dog) and my baby. But as he sensed he was going to make it to her arrival, he made it know that he wanted me to have something of his to remember him by. That something is the LIFE poster. It happens to be dated February 2nd...some year in the '20s. Alton's birthday was 2/2.

I plan to live, love and last as long as I'm able.

I'll keep this poster in it's frame forever, even when it's out of scale with the small abode of my future.