I was shocked when I read of Rob's death. My first instinct was to scream and pound on my desk, but others would have heard me, so I took a walk instead. It's not my style to make a ruckus.
I barely knew Rob; we had only exchanged e-mail a couple of times. I make a hardcopy of just a few (maybe one a month) posts, to show to Daivd, and to save, because I think they are important and want to share, one of Rob's included in this group.
I've only known one other person who died from AIDS. I guess I've led a sheltered life so far. Actually, I've only lost one family member, and no one I would consider a friend, during my entire life. I don't know what to say when someone dies, nor what to do.
This group has become important to me. I made a few efforts to write about my experience at the con, but none of them sounded right. I just can't find the vocabulary to express how much that one event has influenced me. I also can't find the words to say what I want about Rob. I'm just beginning to find my voice expressed in the (to me at least) awkward forays I've made into conversations here.
Driving home earlier today, I started to become angry when I thought about Rob. Angry at the bigots I have to work with each day, angry at the bigots in Houston and in Washington, angry at AIDS. A song played on the radio in which the (female) singer (I don't know who) pleaded "Stay with me..." over and over. I thought more about loss, about Rob, and began to cry. Nothing momentous to some, but this was the first time I have cried in years. I've wanted to for a long time, but couldn't. Like I said, it's more my style to hold everything in.
Nelson Minar said, in another thread: All I
know to do is to do my best to be visible as a happy queer. When I
was out demonstrating in the streets with Queer Nation, the thing
that made me happiest was when some teenager saw me. He knows that
I am queer and happy. He knows that there are queer people in the
world, people he can't hurt. And if he might be lesbigay himself,
then I hope to provide at least a little comfort that he is not
alone.
But this is such a small thing.
I disagree. This may be such a small thing to you, but it is a big thing to that youngster. There are a lot of muffins out there, reading, and learning, as I have done. Surely many of them have found comfort in the words on the screen, are feeling better about who they are, and learning ways to express more freely who they are.
I doubt that I will stay at my desk silently when something outrages me. I doubt that I will be silent when there is bigotry in my midst. I need to make noises, to be heard. No one will speak for me. Rob's death has helped push me to the point that I need to scream to everyone who will listen, so that just maybe they will understand that anger I am myself just beginning to understand, or so that someone who needs to hear me can find that important bit of comfort to keep going. I suppose this will be the legacy Rob leaves me.
Has there been any discussion of a soc.motss.quilt?
