I hate that no matter how many times I see it, Rent will never fail to make me cry.

My thoughts for all those who suffer, have loved ones who suffer, who have died, or will die from AIDS.. who deal with drug addiction every day in their own lives or those of the people they love. It's not easy, but the journey through it is what will make life worth living in the end.

thoughts on death and thanksgiving

"No story sits by itself. Sometimes stories meet at corners and sometimes they cover one another completely, like stones beneath a river"

from The Five People You Meet in Heaven, Mitch Albom

This quote has been ingrained in my mind since the day I first read it three years ago. Just four months before a friend of mine had passed away due to complications from a disability she's had since birth. I saw her only for four hours a week, but she left a profound impact on my life. She struggled to do everything, but she was there, after her own therapy session week after week running right along beside the rest of us in that dusty ring, helping other kids find freedom in riding. Every evening, we would walk our horses back across the pasture to the small paddock that was their home. Every evening, we would talk about mindless things. It's funny how the last night I saw her is so vivid. It was the last night of the spring session, so we were later than usual walking the horses back, so it was already growing dark. The crickets were chirping and the horses kept trying to stall every few minutes for a bite of the fresh grass. We ambled toward the gate, talking. She was so excited.. she was about to turn 18 years old and she was going to have her first boy/girl party that next week. We walked back after locking the horses into their paddock, hung up our halters, and said goodbye for the next month. Two weeks later, she died.

Now, this quote has taken on a new meaning for me. It holds for me a new kind of hope, because I can at least hold onto to the idea that Travis's story still flows where our lives intersected.. I hold the stones from his river in my own.

In 2001 I met Travis aboard a cruise ship. I terrified him by accurately guessing that he was interested in boys (at a time when his own family had neither accepted nor seemed to be willing to accept his orientation). He would order the adventurous dinners while I had my customary fruit and dessert (and, of course, snuck bites off of his own plate). After our week aboard the ship, we continued meeting. We rollerbladed around the lake.. curled up in our favorite booth at "our" Mexican restaurant.. dreamed of moving to a big city.. flew around the city in his Saab while Rent and disco music poured from his speakers.. laughed as he, from Virginia, called me screaming out street names while I attempting to find the closest Wal-mart and the best directions from his current location. I was devastated when I learned (in 2003) that he had been diagnosed with HIV..and soon after, full blown AIDS. Believe me when I say I hate hospitals.. I hate medication.. I hate the way AIDS patients are treated. In early 2005, he called (along with his partner Michael) to tell me that he was going off medication because he wished to live what time he had left as a human being. The images I have of him from his last trip to New York show him as not the man fighting the disease.. but my friend. July 5th, 2005 Travis passed in a hospital in Kentucky. Michael called to tell me the news.

I like to think I could have handled the situation better. I threw myself into Sid with a new abandon that I think frightened even my closest friends. We were opening that weekend and I didn't let myself think or even breathe... I worked hard and partied harder. I never called Michael to see how he was doing. I regret that now, but at the time, the most I could do was survive. A week later, on July 15th, Michael placed three phone calls to my cell before and at 2 in the morning. Phone calls that I pressed "ignore" on.. because I was curled up on a friends couch speaking about some 'serious' issue that I can no longer remember. At 3 a.m., I received a message from his phone.. a message asking what we had spoken about (although, there had been no conversation). I called back, confused. Minutes later, I hung up in shock. Michael shot himself shortly after 2. I have not missed a late night phone call since, nor have I ever felt entirely comfortable making a phone call.

So, this Thanksgiving.. the second since their loss.. I am going to take a time out. Thanksgiving, for us, was a time of joy and phone tag and laughter over the fact that we were all, in different parts of the country, hiding out in seldom used rooms to escape from the insanity that was our families. Last year, I once again buried myself in work.. jumping a plane after a show.. flying home for the insanity.. then jumping back on a plane and throwing myself into stage managing/performing/designing. This year.. I'm going to deal with it. I think it's about time.