Jonathan's POZ Blog

Just got off the phone with my Mom. She is recovering very well from her recent heart surgery. Neither of us knew just how close to death she really was, until she flatlined on the table while they were putting in a pacemaker.

But now? Her cognitive skills have sharpened tremendously. Her energy level is higher than I have seen in months. And her spirits are good. And for the first time in forever, I think I might get a decent night’s sleep, not having to wonder when or if the phone will ring, and with what dreadful news.

Mom confessed that she had a dream last week, whilst in the hospital. Dad was there, wearing a long black coat. He smiled at her, grabbed her by the hand, spun her around (as he was prone to do in their earlier, dancing days). Then he let her go, and with a wistful grin, submitted her to the world of the awake. Call that a simple dream, call it a premonition, a visitation, whatever. Mom took it to mean that the passage from this world to the next was, seriously no big deal. She insists that she never felt pain. And though she assured me that she would miss our talks and my company tremendously, she had to regrets regarding making that transition… that natural transition, she emphasized. I listened to her, and agreed with her that if death is not, after all, the boogeyman, then her choice was, ultimately up to her, more or less.

Then I hung up the phone, held my head in my hands, and wept.

It’s petty of me. It’s small of me. It’s wrong of me. But I am not ready to be in a world without my parents. Especially Mom, with whom I have shared a special relationship for decades. Mom, who I have called almost every day since my father died in 2000. Mom, who is a cool old lady in her own right, and fun to talk to. Mom, who watches Will and Grace reruns religiously, who keeps up on politics and current events. Mom, who easily walks away from a bridge game with the first place winnings. Mom, who is the last bastian of stability in a world remarkably unstable.

I fear that this will happen. I feared it last week, when she lay in the hospital, attached to monitors which showed her decline into death until… and almost too late for… the attachment of life-preserving mechanism.

I have few people in my life. My friend Adam, my friend Richard, my long distance friends Scott and Valerie and Collin, my new friends Tony and Michael. But in the scheme of things, I am dependant upon the concept of having Mom around. She is the one with whom I plan to go on a cruise this year. She is the one I think of instantly when some weird stuff goes on online. She is the one who actually holds conversations with me about what Benjamin Ferret does to bully Zachary Ferret, and why.

I know I will lose her someday. I know I almost did, last week. And I do not know what to do with that information. I have lost so many friends to AIDS. I have lost a father to cancer. I have lost lovers to indifference or scorn or abuse or neglect. I have lost online forums to scandal and misrepresentation and petty infighting.

What’s left to sacrifice? What’s left to lose? If not this, then what? If not now, when? I tremble sometimes at the uncertainty. And I know it’s small of me to do so. I know I should have the strength and wherewithal to suck it up, get the hell out of the house, and find a new group, a new crowd, more good people. Because they are out there. I know this. I just don’t know where or how to start.

All I know is that my Mom’s voice, stronger now than in months and months, means more to me on the end of my cellphone than all the forums, all the contacts, all the connections (or connexions) in the world. I only know now, that I dare not lose sight of the people who mean a good deal to me. Because I see nothing in the crystal ball that indicates a replacement for them. Damage control seems to be my priority these days, forget about fixing the broken or repairing the unworkable. I’m just struggling to keep the few things, the few people I love alive and well and in my life.

It’s freaking exhausting.

what does this have to do with HIV? I dunno. Seems that at some point in the process, damage control, the stopping of further harm, seems to be the only thing some of us can manage. It would be great to bring things back to pre-diagnosis proportions, to recreate a world where we can truly live and thrive. But barring that, just... just standing in the way of more destruction often takes up all of our time and energy. Keeping our heads above water, making a wave when we can. And other seventies theme songs.

Thing is, the longer I have AIDS, the more I understand Emily Dickinson's poem, which states, in part:

The heart asks pleasure first
and then relief from pain
and then those little anodynes
that deaden suffering.

Where am I now? I sometimes think I am at the relief from pain part, most days. Some days, I am to the point where I just don't want to feel it. The quest for pleasure sometimes, oft time, seems remote. And I miss that. Miss that hedonism. Miss that thirst for adventure. I have the videotape of my skydiving adventure four years ago. I want that man back, that cool, strong, fearless guy who jumped from a plane, who jumped into the dating scene, who jumped into online forums with bravado and strength.

I hate being the janitor of my own life, just sweeping up. There must be more, and there must be a way to find that.