Born February 27, 1961. Died August 23, 1995. Just 34 1/2. It was AIDS.
Two years before Eric died, his partner Jeff died- September 1, 1960- June 28, 1993.
Jeff in the front, Eric in the back. Sorry the color didn’t scan too well. The picture had faded in the frame more than I thought. Anyway- they were together for 8 years- very happily together.
I don’t know what to say now. Do I tell you something of his life, more of the hole he left behind? He was 5 years older than me, 7 older than our sister. Other than all of the usual sibling fighting when we all lived at home, we adored him. He always seemed larger than life to me- and infinitely more mature. I would love to know him now- to know each other as adults.
We grew up in a pretty small town in Virginia. I can’t figure out how to write this sentence: My parents were wonderfully accepting of his orientation. The flaws with that sentence: why should someone have to “come out”- why can’t everyone just be? And why shouldn’t everybody just accept- why should not being wonderful be an option? (Joe had a post the other day that ties to this issue). He graduated from high school second in his class, got through William and Mary in 3 1/2 years. Went to work doing graphic layouts for the Mariner’s Museum in Norfolk, VA- and during one of those summers he apprenticed at a magazine in Boston similar to The Washingtonian- I think it may have been called…I really don’t remember. But while he was there he decided that Boston was where he wanted to be. So he worked and saved enough to get himself up there and through several months. His manager at his first job became a great friend of his and Jeff’s. Eventually he became a successful freelance graphics designer. They had an incredible circle of friends- he was definitely where he was supposed to be. Some time passed after Jeff died, and another wonderful man came into his life. Randall. He wanted Eric, HIV positive and all (I guess I mean w/ the baggage of having someone you love die on you). After Eric died, Randall stayed in touch for a time, eventually someone came into his life, and our contact faded and he moved on. Last we knew, he never became HIV positive- and I hope he is happy in every possible way.
Now I don’t know how to end this. I very mechanically gave you a short biography. What next? I don’t know if I’m up to getting that personal today. It’s still very hard. Maybe I’ll just ask you to say something nice to your brothers and sisters today, if you have any. And if you have to call them a dweeb- at least do it with affection.
AIDS sucks.
Hugs. I am glad to see his photo, to put a beautiful face to all the beautiful things you’ve told me about him. A loss to us all.
My heart goes out to you today. Let’s do the Boston AIDS walk next year for him, ok?
He was larger than life, wasn’t he? There are so many memories, yet too few if you know what I mean. I do remember something that he wrote when Jeff died and I don’t think he would mind if I shared it here.
“By now you must know how to listen for it. It pulses from people you keep at arm’s length, people you wrap your heart around, perhaps yourself. It tears you awake, although you may prefer denial. The static ticking of time bombs resides out of your hands, yet it is on your nerves. One such bomb’s detonation brings you here tonight.
“Everyday loses a little piece of gravity. Certain feelings make room for the furniture of uncertain probabilities. Too many chemicals and too few assurances offer you a strange new communion; even though this isn’t about blood, and this really isn’t about bodies. Painfully the ticking continues. It has not, will not, miss a beat. The boy said this was kinda like spending Christmas at someone else’s house. As always, he’s right.
“But if you open your eyes mighty wide and bring your ears right up close, you begin to see what only endangered species and people in very special positions can see. You see that you don’t need eyesight to possess vision, that you don’t need muscle control to put one foot in front of the other, that you don’t need to speak in sentences to make sense. In fact, you see that you really don’t need at all. You see where the mind, the heart, and the hand meet. You see the soul. You see that you are an honored guest at the place where someone calls home.
“And to visit the place where Jeff set up house, to pull up a chair, you forget the ticking. You cease the struggle to make sense of the tragedy – there is no sense to be made. Because you realize that bombs will go off, this is the brutal nature of an epidemic. An epidemic whose epicenter is the home of heroes. Heroes who sometimes wear their capes inside out to avoid the hate of people who know no heroes. But you know who loses in that scenario. For these are heroes that will show you that a stuffed bear named George, who, even without having all of his parts, has a very precious quality. A miraculous quality that knows that the ticking doesn’t always measure where we have been, but always shows us where we have yet to go.”
He had such a way with words. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss him. But it does make me appreciate having you in my life all that much more. Just remember, I love you, and so does he.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Eric sounds like a beautiful person.
Hugs to you!
I am so sorry
My best wishes to your family at this time.
so sorry. seems it touches all of us. I had a cousin…
oh dear that is my generation and this happened to so many of my friends at that time. it is only now i am really realizing what it means to have experienced so much loss. what and who would they have become???? just like you say.
your brother looks so nice and handsome and it is a great photo.
cheers from copenhagen
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