overyourhead - some irreverent musings by a gay London guy - crawling though technology, love and life... so you don't have to.
It’s an unwritten role when you come to the States you have to go shopping. Me, I hate shopping. Yet somehow always manage to find myself with half a dozen bags of stuff. Mainly flowery shirts and pants! 🙄😅
Stuart has given me strict instructions though. It’s one in, one out!
It was a very emotional day on Saturday going down to see the UK AIDS Memorial Quilt at the Tate Modern.
Each panel of the quilt was a snapshot into a loved one’s amazing life. But seeing them all laid out was quite overwhelming.
As I started to walk along reading the panels I’d only got a short way, when a tidal wave of emotion suddenly hit me. Grief is like that. It blindsides you.
I started shaking. I couldn’t speak. I was in floods of tears. I lost it.
The memories came rushing back, so many friends lost. Beautiful sexy funny man all struck down in their prime.
Forty years ago. It was an awful time. For a ten years stretch. The fear, the shock, the desperation, the sadness, the hospital visits, the funerals, the wakes, the painful sense of loss that still lingers.
The heart ripped out of so many friendship groups. So many beautiful souls. Lovely gorgeous sexy man struck down in their 20s and 30s. Men who would be the same age as I am now. Only, they’re not. They’re gone.
So many numbers in my phonebook that I can’t bring myself to delete. Names and phone numbers that live on. Numbers that will never ring.
I’ll never share a joke with them again. Never hear their laugh. Never see their smile.
It was a traumatic time, not knowing which of your friends was going to die next.
Back then, it’s hard to describe the joy of seeing somebody when you haven’t seen them for a while and you had feared the worst. You’re alive! Thank goodness!
I remember the first year that I didn’t go to a friend’s funeral. It was 1997.
But the strength and the solidarity that came out of such desperate times shouldn’t be underestimated either. We were bonded by our collective grief.
And the brutal realisation that you have to live life to it’s full. To be thankful for those around you.
So once I choked back my tears, and continued walking along the rows of panels I started to feel better. A sense of happiness and joy spread through me as I realised that these men were loved. Are loved. And are remembered for all time in these beautiful quilts.
Yes, it was a very emotional day on Saturday. But my goodness, I’m pleased I went.
