Helen Keller wrote: "You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear."
I was listening to James Taylor yesterday afternoon, side two of “One Man Dog.” When it got to the song “Someone” I began to reflect. I'm going to be 63 this coming November and am still looking for love (in all the wrong places?) and wonder if I will ever find it again.
I have been in love thrice in my life, twice in my early twenties and once about 7 years ago. I know I am lucky for this as love does not strike often.
My first relationship, the first man I made love to, grew over a period of five months. We met at college, he was two years younger than I. Our relationship culminating one wild weekend in a small cottage on the south shore of Boston. Although I had dreamed of this happening, I never expected that it would. I will be the first one to tell you, I'm gay and attracted to men, but I had pursued only “straight” men and I had difficulty with being pursued. This first conquest was extremely passionate with a capital P. I was no virgin, as I had made love to a woman but that had not been very satisfactory. I had fooled around with guys while in High School but I certainly would not have called that love. And yet, here is was. The big L, offered to me on a silver platter. We cuddled the first night and had mad passionate sex the next. Unfortunately for me, he then leaped back into the closet and slammed the door. I spent the next few months trying to figure out what I had done wrong. It turned out that I hadn't. I had made no mistakes. I had taken a risk and it had failed. Chalk one up for him.
My second relationship lasted much longer. We dated for four years. We never lived together and as we grew older, we grew apart. Our careers seem to set the stage for the relationship. As we moved ahead with our jobs, we moved further apart, both figuratively and actually. Finally, I ended up in NYC and he ended up in Saudi Arabia. Could two people be any further apart? I cared for him very much but as I have grown older, I realize the difficulties I have with relationships. Whether it was domineering mother and an absent father, what ever its cause, I have suffered because of it. I believe that it's called detachment disorder with abandonment issues. I have always had difficulties with relationships.
I lived in NYC from the beginning of the AIDS crisis to the beginning of the “cure.” Yea, I know there isn't a cure but people that are infected are living much longer lives with the new meds and improvements are happening all the time. I found it very hard to meet people. Even when I did, I was very unsure of myself and frankly very frighten of becoming HIV positive or afraid to give of myself only to be abandoned again. If you became infected, you had a death sentence, and died in around 6 months. During this time, I was losing staff and friends at a horrifying rate. I grew older, became less satisfied with my life and realized that I desperately needed a change. I decided to return to my roots as it were. I moved back to Maine.
I launched my second career and opened my heart to the people around me. I have never been a fan of gay bars. I decided that if I was to meet my someone, I needed to act rather that be passive and wait for love to find me. I joined the Gay Men's Chorus of Portland, I attended Men's retreats, I helped to launch an alcohol free gay men's group that met weekly. With my business partner, we launched a Gay newspaper and created a gay night at a large local club. Much to my surprise, I did meet someone.
He was a beautiful man. He was tall and handsome, he had red hair, green eyes, full lips and he was HIV positive. He was also in a long term relationship with another man. We both realized that we might never be able to fulfill our love. He taught me about safe sex. He taught me how to face death. He was most gentle and kind and my love for him just grew. He had been in hospice with full blown AIDS before I had met him. He had then weighed around 120 lbs, while his normal weight was around 175. Protease inhibitors had been his salvation. We both knew that his time was limited and I was adamant that he needed to figure out his relationship with Keith before we could know where we stood.
I suspect that he had known the full extent of his health problems when he begged my forgiveness and told me he was moving to Las Vegas with Keith. He died less that a year later. I miss him so. He was a great friend, I loved him so and I always wonder how my life would have been with him. I know that he was sparing me the grief I would experience but I have experienced that grief none the less. I don't even have a picture of him.
So here I am. I too have a death sentence. I have cancer and I know that it is just a matter of time, just like Jon. I don't have much to offer other than the time I have left. I am not a rich man but I am happy. In fact, I have never been happier. To quote Krandall Kraus and Paul Borja, “Once you have experienced dying, the experience of living is changed unalterably and forever. The world and all that is in it take on a translucent quality. One sees 'through the world,' as it were, into the heart of things. The trivial falls away, essences come to the surface, nothing is merely what it appears to be... all takes on a kind of diaphanous quality.” This has happened to me. I now look at life through different eyes. My hope is that someone can join me in this last adventure. Although the end may still be some time away, I none the less see that end down the road. I only hope that I can see it with 'someone.'
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