The Night I Cried

I cried the hardest I’ve ever cried Saturday night, outright.  Drunk, tired or rather exhausted, and distraught, I felt my heart ache.  It’s really strange, as younger gay men, how much we discern certain aspects of our livelihoods.  I’ve never had to deal with what I had to last Saturday.  And with all the talk, and blogging, and short stories of loss, it has never hit anywhere close to home.

 

HIV finally came crashing through my own institutional white picket fence. 

We went out Saturday night, Mark, a few friends and I.  The entire night one of our mutual friends had been odd, and very distant.  He dismissed my worries, I had too much to drink and we all went back to another friend’s house for some relaxing ect. 

Then the proverbial bomb dropped.

 

One of my newest friends had contracted the disease.

He burst into tears, and I couldn’t even manage a word.  I just sat there, looking at the coffee table.  Unsure how to react, fearing that my drunken tongue would miscue, I sat motionless as he had a momentary break down.  Following an icebreaking statement from someone else, the conversation picked back up, but my mind never left his statement.  As we all went to a fast food place later, and eventually home, he skipped the former and left first.  As he was leaving, I hugged him so hard I heard his breath struggle for second, and then he departed.

 

The remaining few events of the night weren’t notable, except for my demeanor.  I nearly fell apart in Whataburger, and on the way home.  We parked, and a song by Broken Social Scene came on.  The tears came silently at first.  Mark hadn’t noticed.  They worsened. 

In a silent wail for nearly a minute at 4:30 in the morning, I finally released.  Mark, startled at first, realized quickly what was going on and held me.  I’m unsure as to exactly how long I cried, but lengthy as it was, Mark never once tried to stop me.  This was something I had to do.  I had to cry, to let out all of the hurt that “he” was going through.  And I did.  I cried and cried.

 

And as my tears fell, I continually thought about him, about his amazing demeanor, about how he didn’t deserve this, that maybe it was a mistake, but knowing that it wasn’t.  And I understand that today, its not a death sentence to be positive.  And life for people living with it will only get better with improved medication.  But still, something is gone.   At least from my gathering, he is no longer innocent to real pain.  Neither am I when I think about it.  I’ve never had to deal with loss, especially with anyone remotely close to me. 

So to my friend, I sent unending love and support.  I’ve only known you for a short time, and in this time I’ve seen the great person you are.  I’m sure many more tears are in my future, but if you ever need anything, you know how to get a hold of me.

 

With so much love, Chad.