For Michael

I was looking for pictures of him earlier, of my cousin Michael. It seems that I have none. Michael died some years ago.

He was a good man. In many ways, he was the best of us. I aspire to be like him. Growing up I always looked up to him. I wanted to be like him. In some ways, he knew me better than I knew myself at that age. It occurred to me that losing him was like losing my big brother.

He taught me many things. He taught me to ski. He got me the Stephen King book “The Gunslinger” that opened up whole worlds for me. He took me sailing for the first, and only time in my life. He took me ice skating on the lake, and even let me play with his stuff when I was little. When he went off to college, I’d sometimes stay over my aunt’s house. I’d sleep in his room.

He’s been gone for some time now. I remember when I knew he was sick. I remember seeing him so thin, so thin, and tired looking. He looked as if he had aged twenty years. And no one talked about it, we all just pretended that he was fine, the same old Michael. It’s amazing how a whole family can deny something because of taboo and stigma. Michael you see was dying from AIDS. Our lives had taken their own turns by then, and I did not get to talk to him much. He had moved to St. Louis, and I moved even further west - to San Diego. And so life went on.

Some time later I got a call from my mother. Michael had died, and they’d had the funeral. I was hurt, and I was angry. How could they not tell me? How could they wait? His passing changed everything though. My aunt and uncle were devastated. Good Catholics all their life they suddenly found they could not bury their son at the local church. He had the “gay disease,” it did not matter that he was not gay; it was simply the association. I had left the church long ago, but whatever faith I had in the good it could do died a bit more when I found out.

And my aunt, the thread of her life frayed completely. She was always headstrong and a bit obnoxious at times, but this sent her spiraling. She became bitter, angry, spiteful, and cruel. She drank more and more. She began isolating herself through her behavior. Herself and my uncle. I miss them, I’ve not spoken with them in over a year because of that. Time is coming to call them, I don’t want the choice made for me.

I miss him, and I think of him often. He left behind a beautiful wife and daughter. His wife, Wendy, is HIV+ but has it under control with medication. His daughter is perfectly healthy. She is like him in many ways; I can see him in her. And though at times it has been painful in the end it is amazing. I see him living on in her, and realize that although he is gone he will never be forgotten. In his daughter, in Alex, I see all that was good in him reborn.

And I know I will always miss him, but I know he lived a good life and that he had what we all get. He had a lifetime. I just hope that when my time comes I have someone who can think the same thing about me.

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