Years ago I was sitting in my library on a cold, rainy afternoon. My thoughts turned to the five years I spent in Houston in the late 1970s. I was thinking of my beautiful, lively, dancing friends, men from my Montrose apartment complex who introduced me to the magic of The Old Plantation and other gay discos of that era.
They’re all dead now, having succumbed to the plague a decade after our shiny bright nights, so filled with love and laughter and innocent fun.
That reminiscence led me to google AIDS and plague and that fortuitously led me to the stories of Joe.My.God. What an epiphany. Joe survived the plague years while living out that nightmare. Heartbreaking doesn’t come close to describing the unending horror of one death after another after another. It was ruinous and yet Joe found beauty in telling the stories of those who survived and those who didn’t.
In that, he is my inspiration. He was blog daddy to a whole raft of us who have kept our connections alive at Joe’s place, on Facebook, and elsewhere.
Stories are healing. They connect us at times when nothing else can. There is great joy and much comfort in recognizing that we are not alone. There is no other. “You too? Not just me? Thank god!”
So I’ve given in to telling the stories again. The last post I wrote on my old blog was called widow, orphan, and what comes after. And much (MUCH!) has come after. Grab some coffee and pull up a chair, because I want to hear your stories too. There is great magic happening in this world if we are willing to open our hearts. Let’s talk about it, yes?