Hate is a word you will find prominently on this blog. I use it in its title, I use it to name one of the pages, I use it in many stories as well. I use the word mostly to try and bring some comic relief by demonstrating little quirks we could totally do without to make our space a better one. But the other day while reading Phronk’s blog I was forced to think about the real meaning of the word. See he wrote this story after reading this one from GENERATION X-POSE, and although I really agree with both ideas, it made me think that I could be more careful with the use of the word.

On this note, I hate AIDS.
AIDS is totally unnecessary, there’s no purpose for it. I’ve lost a lot of good friends to its related illnesses. In fact, hating AIDS has made me want to do something about it. I’m not a Doctor nor a Scientist, so that’s definitely not the area I could help from, but awareness and raising funds are two things I certainly could do. Through the years, I have hated AIDS enough to do something about it. Here’s the first of many stories I will share on this:

19 years ago, my best friend, at the time, died after a long battle against AIDS, his beaten body couldn’t take anymore of the illnesses related to the HIV virus, and there wasn’t much we could do but watch the person we loved slowly slip away from us. His family didn’t really want anyone to know what he died of, they told people he had cancer, as if it was less shameful. This didn’t sit well with me and I wanted to do something for him, something that would let people know he didn’t fight in vain.

The AIDS QUILT PROJECT was coming to Montreal to display a portion of their exhibition at the Olympic Stadium and it dawned on me that I could add his name to it. So I went to work, finishing just a few days before having to submit it. I then decided to go show my friend’s mother as I had gotten close to his family through the years. She liked it at first until she realized what it was for, then the screams started. She called her daughter-in-law from her balcony, across the street, to come stop me from doing what I intended to do otherwise everyone would know what her son died from if I gave it to the AIDS Quilt Project… I so wanted to bolt out of there but instead I lied and said I would keep it for myself, knowing very well, I wouldn’t.

The day after, I made my way to the Olympic Stadium on opening day of the quilt’s display and met with the committee who would take receipt of my handy work. Opening day meant the press was present and all of a sudden I was being photographed handing the quilt over. A journalist from Le Journal De Montreal (Montreal’s version of The Toronto Sun) asked if he could use the picture to give the story a more local flair. The organizers unfolded the quilt and opened it for all to see. I sheepishly stood next to them all as Jacques’ name was proudly displayed for everyone.

Lightbulb flash!

Memory flash of lying to Jacques mother!

Vision flash of front page with me and the quilt!

Luckily, the story didn’t run with me in it, a gay city councilor came that night and the press got all excited about it and ran a more politically friendly piece, showing him and his mother walking through the exhibition. Part of me was relieved to not have to deal with Jacques’s mother, part of me was dissapointed as for the same reason. I know Jacques was a brave man and would have loved the exposure. Nonetheless, I had finished this quest to honour his name, to add another person to the list and making sure people realized this virus wasn’t going away, you couldn’t just ignore it.

If you ever have a chance to see the quilt, please go, it’s a VERY powerful show of love, it will leave you shaken, I promise. There is also the 1990 Academy Award winner documentary called Common Threads: Stories from the quilt that always leaves me crying like a man who’s lost someone special.

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