novembar I S. 2002
justrcn
G U EST CO M M ENTARY
, j,„ j, nikma
The IN publication for the OUT population
F ounded 1983 • J ay B rown
Voi. 2 0 N o . 2
and
R enée L a C hance
N o v em b er 15, 2 0 0 2
F EATUR E
M M IS T I N HAYNEST: Portland director just
might win an Oscar. Who is he?
P 24
NEWS
NORTHWEST • World AIDS Day highlights
stigma and discrimination; Creating Change
conference sets records; ram sexual preference
linked to brain differences
PP 7 - 1 5
NATIONAL • Demonstration challenges
“ex-gay” seminar’s misleading messages;
crushing defeat stalls gay agenda;
queer atheists come out o f another closet;
military ousts cunning linguists
PP 1 7 - 2 1
W ORLI • Belgium considers same-sex
marriage; Tecate outlaws trannies;
Canada censors fisting
PP 2 2 - 2 3
ARTS A ND CULTURE
MRSIC • Carol Reise gives you fever;
reviews of some divas and one strange
Icelandic wonder band
pp 3 4 - 3 5
PEOPLE • Just Out talks to the uproarious
Kate Clinton
P 37
ART • Jen Woody makes some fabulously
whimsical little ladies
p 39
OIVERSIONS • Lesbian cable show; Sara Ryan
wins Oregon Book Award; Beth Orton at the
Roseland; Tammy Faye likes animals, too
p 40
WHAT'S POPPIN'T • Wildly overrated 8 Mile
and Punch-Drunk Love
P 41
C01THRE • 2 Gyrlz Performative Arts presents
the Enteractive Language Festival
pp 4 2 - 4 3
Living by markers
A personal reflection
n Dec. 1, people around the world will commemorate the
15th World AIDS Day. Some three months later, I will
mark the 15th anniversary of the day when I learned that
my body is home to the human immunodeficiency virus.
I am not a long-term survivor, as the conventional
labeling goes. In my lexicon, I am a long-term “thrivor," not in spite of
but because I am HIV-positive.
In sharing my experience here, I speak for no one else. I share only
that which resides in my heart and in my life.
If, in 1988,1 had been asked, “What will you be doing with your life
in 15 years?” my answer would have been something like: “I’m HIV
positive. My life won’t last 15 years.” Thus began my gradual and tenta
tive walk along a path with life on one side and death on the other.
Until a few years ago, one marker after another defined my life. Will
I live to see my 30th birthday? The ’92 election? Next Christmas? The
’96 election? The new millennium? My 40th birthday? Each marker
passed. Between them, I continued to monitor my test results— CD-4
count: 480, 190,380, 412. In 1996, enter the viral load test: un
detectable, 4,500, undetectable, undetectable and so on. Last month’s
results— CD-4: 396; viral load: undetectable.
Living by markers was a convenient and possibly necessary way of
forestalling decisions about or plans for my future. I had no hope that
there would be a future. I was myopic in my attempts at staying alive.
Today, after 15 years of living with HIV, I am more alive than ever.
For this, I give credit to two dreams and one conversation.
In the fall of 2 0 0 1 ,1 had a dream in which I was sitting at the bed
side of a dying person. In this dream my role was to help this person let
go of this life and to peacefully cross over to the next.
Weeks later, I was walking my dog in Alberta Park. There, I struck
up a conversation with a massage therapist who works in the
HIV/AIDS arena, most recently presenting at the International AIDS
Conference in Barcelona, Spain. The conversation meandered toward
the challenges facing people living with this disease.
“I am continually meeting men who were once quite ill. They return
to good health, spend hours a day at the gym and do nothing to help
those who are still sick,” she decried.
One could argue that her comment was somewhat harsh. It never
theless struck a lasting chord in me and challenged me to ask, “What
exactly am I doing to help those who are not as fortunate as I am ?’ The
question took only a few minutes to answer: nothing.
A week passed and brought the second dream, identical to the first.
Again, I was helping someone die. I awoke from this dream with a sense
of purpose I had never known.
In the middle of the night I discovered what I needed to do next.
Days later, I was sitting in my car with a few minutes to collect my
thoughts before an interview with the director of volunteers at Our
House, a residence for people with AIDS. I was full of anxiety and doubt.
“Am I really up for this? What if I lose it during the tour? “Maybe I
should come back another time.”
A few deep breaths later and I was in the interview telling of the
dreams and the conversation. A t once leery and certain, 1 agreed to
begin volunteering Thursday evenings.
It was on a Thursday in November when I met Leonard. He was a
resident who recently had moved into Our House. Within a few weeks,
we had developed a bond that is with me to this day.
Leonard shared with me what was left of his life and I listened. He
became my teacher and I his witness.
Leonard’s death ended a difficult life. A s his final breath drew near, I
held his trembling hand, dabbed his moist forehead and cried.
I cried because it hurt to watch as Leonard raced and struggled to
make peace with his life and his family. I cried because I knew this was
not how he wanted his life to end. I cried because I feared a similar
death might someday visit me.
Through Leonard’s dying I learned about life. I learned that I want
to die a peaceful death; that every word, every action and every
moment matters; that now is the time to heal my wounds and my rela
tionships; and that if I die in four hours or 40 years, I want to be at
peace with how I have loved and how I have lived my life.
Leonard died at 2 a.m. Feb. 1 7 .1 miss him and I thank him for these
lessons and for keeping his promise of letting me know that he made it
to the other side.
After Leonard’s death, I needed some time away from my volunteer
duties. During this respite, I learned that Our House was searching for a
development director. I had been in the field for seven years and
believed that both my life and volunteer experience would allow for a
greater expression of my humanity and a larger contribution to the
AIDS community.
It took 14 years of living with HIV for me to develop the courage,
purposefulness and determination to face A ID S— directly and com
pletely. Today, I have the privilege of walking through the doors at Our
House to begin my workday. 1 find inspiration in the people who live
and work here. And for the first time, I am doing what 1 am supposed to
be doing: living.
It is in memory of Leonard and the other 20 million people who
have died of A ID S that I share my small comer of the world as we com
memorate World A ID S Day. J H
Reach JOE JEFFERSON at jjefferson@ourhouseofportland.org.
COLUMNS
M S. RERAVIQR - My boyfriend loves me, this
I know. For The New York Times tells me so.
,
REFLECTIONS
33
A s Ju st O ut enters our 20th year o f publishing we wish to thank all those advertisers
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THE 60SPEL ACCORDING TR MARC • Why do all
the crazies move to the Northwest?
Shakti Cove Cottages
Ferguson Autobody
Coventry Cycle Works
Escential Lotions & Oils
Bender Properties
The Real Mother Goose
Millynn James
Cascade A ID S Project
Bradley J. Woodworth
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It’s My Pleasure
Portland Gay Men's C h o n »
P 45
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T he Ju st O ut Staff
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