One Voice
by Sherri Lewis
Baby, my Bichon Frisé, recently began showing her advanced age of sixteen-and-a-half years. Her aging brain making her severely disoriented, cloudy eyes impairing her vision, not eating or functioning, we rush to her vet. He reminds me how lucky I am that I’ve had her for so long! What is he saying? Is this the end? An unbearable thought! I want her longer—forever, if that were possible!
Feeling the dread of my impending loss, the vet prescribes medications to take home for Baby—although I need some myself! But ten days later, amazingly, Baby, her daughter Nomie, and I return to our regular dog walk. Though I have no children of my own, they are my family and my family is still intact.
But that is not the case for Pauline Sturgeon and Mary Martinez, two mothers whose adult children died of AIDS and who educate the public by sharing their stories through MAP, Mothers of AIDS Patients. Several years ago, I received a call (the first of many) from Mary Martinez, now acting president of MAP, on behalf of the organization asking if I was available to speak with her. I was. The venue was Hawthorne High School, where Mary’s son, John Norman, graduated.
Mary bravely shared her son’s story. John joined the Navy in 1973, was discharged by 1975 for being gay, and found a job as a stock clerk, eventually becoming a West Coast regional salesman. In December of 1987, John ended up in the hospital with PCP.
It was John himself, concerned for his mother’s well-being, who urged her to find a support group. Looking through the yellow pages, she discovered MAP. “There were about twenty-five to thirty people,” Mary recollects. “I was so frightened and angry; I felt like a basket case. I didn’t know what to do.” By the next time, she began to open up and share.
John’s parents cared for him at home for the next ten months until round-the-clock professional care was necessary. John died in 1989, his ashes cast out on the breakwaters. His final request. Griefstricken, Mary continued going to her support group where she met and found a friend in Pauline, whose daughter Paulette also had AIDS.
I met Pauline at another speaking engagement. When it was her turn to speak, Pauline lovingly unwrapped her daughter’s picture. Beautifully framed, carefully placed, she began. Paulette was happily married and wanted to start a family. She became pregnant in 1983, but suffered a miscarriage and received a blood transfusion. By 1984, Paulette and her husband decided to adopt and needed to get physicals. When swollen glands were discovered on Paulette, she consented to an HIV antibody test. Though Paulette was asymptomatic, her test results returned positive. The transfusion had been contaminated.
Still healthy, Paulette found MAP for her mother. Staying healthy so her adoption could be approved was not as simple. By 1987 Paulette was hospitalized with PCP and an AIDS diagnosis.
Determined to adopt she spoke at schools, the L.A. Times featured her story, and, with her health improving, she and her husband adopted a baby girl. Two years later on March 6, 1990, Paulette, daughter, wife, and mother, tragically died of complications due to AIDS.
Tears streaming down my own face, I wondered how I was going to compose myself to speak. Depressed about turning fifty and living with HIV, I was suddenly grateful that my mother didn’t have to tell my story or suffer such unrelenting grief. Even now, I am moved by the courage and strength of these mothers; I don’t know if I could survive such a loss. Then again, I didn’t know I could survive a lot of things and I have.
Mothers facing the wrath of AIDS and the nightmare of burying their children, feeling alone and desperate, found each other at MAP. As AIDS reigned as the terrorist of the eighties, the death sentence President Reagan never adequately addressed, mothers traveled to be with, care for, and bury their children. MAP, with only private donations, provided emotional and financial support. But MAP is now slowly phasing out its support groups. “Not as many people are dying,” Mary tells me. “People aren’t as afraid anymore.”
Mothers are the life force that bring us into—and sometimes ease us out of—this world, holding our hand or stroking our forehead, soothing our pain, lessening our fears. To those mothers there in the darkness waiting for some light, I thank you. For your sacrifice, your pain, and your love. For your courage to speak out, telling the stories of those you loved, knowing a life remembered is a life not forgotten.
Sherri Lewis, aka Beachfront, is an HIV-positive actress/singer, writer, and nationally known AIDS educator. Along with her one-woman show Life Is a Beach, she is a public speaker for UCLA AIDS Institute and Being Alive, and serves on Women At Risk’s board of directors. Reach her by e-mail at Beach412@aol.com.
September 2004
