I just got done signing up for the 2005 Seattle AIDS Walk - if you are able to donate to this cause, please click here. I have done two other AIDS Walks in the past, both in New York City. This will be the first one since the death of my mother, Anne Edwards. The fight against AIDS is something that is always on my mind, be it at the back or forefront, it looms there. The reason for this is that AIDS took the life of my mother away back when I was a teenager. Thinking back to when she died, it is still hard to believe how quick the end was. She lived with HIV and AIDS for a little over ten years. She would get sick sometimes, and didn’t have a ton of energy, but usually she was fine and could function nicely. When she got really sick, she would go to the hospital for a few days, and then come back. That is what I fully expected the last time she went in. Instead of going home, though, she was placed in a hospice. At the young age of 16, I still didn’t have a full grasp on the situation. I had never heard of a hospice before, but upon visiting her there, it just looked like a more upscale hospital where you got a bit more attention.

The fact was, though, that everyone seemed to know that time was running out for her but me. Looking back, the way other family members talked to me during that time, it was like they thought I knew what was going on. Extra sensitive, making sure I was okay. Again, I just thought that within a few days, she would be back to “normal”, at home where I would visit her each day after school. What saddens me most is that I never knew that the last time I visited her would be the last time I would see her, otherwise it would have gone quite a bit differently.

Although she was able to respond, very faintly by touch or by a reaction on her face, she was not able to speak. I still don’t understand the ins and outs of why that was, but suffice to say - it scared me. My “other” mother (I am adopted) was there with me for the visit, along with my little brother, and a lot of other family. While he (around 10-11 years old at the time) fed her the pudding that the nurse brought her, I just kind of sat off to the side wondering what the heck was going on, and why this visit felt so different. Something just didn’t feel “right”. My mother reached out to my brother and I, and we took her hands and just held them for a bit, and she kind of smiled at us. It was almost as if she just wanted to see her boys one more time, as later that evening, she passed away.

The next day I fully expected to visit her again with my grandmother, uncle, and aunt. My mother (adopted mother, for those keeping track) received a call before she was to drop me and my little cousin off at my grandmothers house, and she went into another room and closed the door to take it. That wasn’t out of the ordinary. What was, though, was that as soon as she got off the phone, she speedily walked through the room I was in without making any eye-contact, and went into another room where my sister (adopted) was working on something and shut the door. That was peculiar - and oddly the first thing that went through my head was “My mother better not be dead”. To this day I don’t know where that came from. On the ride over to my grandmothers house, my mother was fairly quite but made small talk. That was another odd sign, as small talk isn’t her thing. She likes, no, loves meaningful conversations.

The last piece of the puzzle happened when I got to my grandmothers place. You see, every single time that I can remember, my grandmother has been a cheery, smiley, bright-eyes, youthful woman who always made me feel that she was ECSTATIC to see me. This is why I knew something was wrong when I rang her doorbell, and she didn’t come running to the door to give me a hug and kiss and rub my cheek. My aunt answered, and even she didn’t seem to chipper. My grandmother was sitting on her couch, and there was no smile in sight. Something was very, very wrong - and I knew what it was, although I hoped to God I was wrong.

My grandmother called me over, and everyone left the room. She told me a story of how when she was younger, someone shared a story with her about what a great person her father was, and how things hadn’t been that good for him recently, and how he was no longer with us. The story wasn’t as quick as that, as it lasted about 10 minutes. The whole time I knew what she was getting at - I just wanted the story to last forever so that I wouldn’t have to hear the end, but it came soon enough. She told me that this is how she found out her father had died, and that now she had to tell me similar news, as my mother had passed away. At that point, I blanked. Nothing else she said was registering. I didn’t cry, because twelve years of foster care taught me to bottle all my feelings up since they didn’t matter anyway. I didn’t have much to say at all. I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to deal with it.

We went to the hospice that day to pick up her things, and the one request that I had was to be able to see her body. I just wanted that sense of closure. After all, my last visit with her was spent with me mostly sitting on the sidelines because I was so uncomfortable and scared. I at least wanted to “see it to believe it”. Unfortunately, the answer was no. Rigamortis had set in, which the nurses felt meant that I shouldn’t. That really ruined my day, and sent the rest of my teenage years into a tail spin. Grades dropped, I rebelled, and I really didn’t care about anything.

Fast forward to today, and I am a married 24 year old with a 19-month old baby boy. They will be walking with me on the Gear Live Media team to support this great cause. The sooner this horrible disease can be stopped, and the sooner it no longer tears families apart, the better this world will be. I know it seems impossible, but where there is a will, there is certainly a way.

That being said, if you are able to, please donate a few dollars in sponsorship of our walk. In this situation, I believe it is safe to say that every little bit helps.

CLICK HERE TO DONATE TO AIDS WALK