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The red ribbon is an international symbol worn year round, particularly on Dec. 1, World AIDS Day. It’s a simple symbol, red cloth looped, crossed over, and secured in the center, representing a complex disease and the issues surrounding it.
I will wear a red ribbon in memory of my dad who died with AIDS, November 20, 1990. My red ribbon will also recognize and celebrate the advocacy my dad provided through his AIDS Ministry as a Methodist Minister, informing people about the disease and providing facts, telling his story, and emphasizing that AIDS is not a gay disease.
My dad was courageous throughout his journey with AIDS. Courage does not necessarily always mean being without fear, but moving ahead despite those fears. He wrote in his daily prayer journal, "The hand of the enemy is AIDS which so recently invaded my life. So many questions. So many doubts. So many fears. How to deal with it?"
After the initial shock of his diagnosis, anger and denial, my dad came to a peace with the disease, an acceptance, not giving up, but giving over. His determination to prevail over AIDS was steadfast like evergreens in the winter.
My dad shared these hopes and fears, his story of AIDS, with hundreds of churches, community groups, youth groups and schools, and testified before President Reagan’s Commission on AIDS, three days of hearings in Washington D.C. Even though there is still stigma today around HIV and AIDS, back in the 80s when he was diagnosed, the fear surrounding HIV/AIDS seemed to be more contagious than the disease.
I keep a big blue plastic tub with a lid that loosely fits overflowing with items including articles about my dad and AIDS, my dad’s journals and writings, my writings, and letters and cards from concerned people during his life with AIDS. A couple weeks ago, Denver’s sunny skies turned to gray overcast, more like Indiana’s winter days back home. The chill in the air prompted me to curl up, embraced by my grandmother’s quilt, and read through some of the material. One card read, "If we think of our life as a fabric from which all the strengths and trials of life are woven, then your life and the testimony you bear are a very lasting thread in the lives of those you touched."
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I recalled how much my dad touched my life as a father, friend, and teacher--going back and forth between laughter and my crooked smile to reflection and tears. I wondered how long my dad would have lived if there were drugs like the protease inhibitors of today which, though beneficial in extending life, seem to provide a false security.
I leaned back against my couch and remembered as a teenager my dad listening to my worries and concerns, softly repeating, "Anything else?" Watching our favorite TV programs, while Winston, his Westland Highland Terrier and companion, bounded towards the screen barking whenever he saw a horse. And his words of wisdom, "One thing you can always count on Judith, is change."
I now work at CAP as a Reception Manager giving me the opportunity for practicing flexibility, providing foundation, and coming full-circle with AIDS.
Every day at 9 a.m., I slide the metal gate up at the window counter, grab the bus token book, lift the small but heavy box of tokens out of the locking filing cabinet, put them in place, and take the phones off "Do Not Disturb"--I’m ready for service. A service, however, that is bittersweet at times. When clients can’t remember their case manager or appointment time, I associate it with my dad’s dementia. Just as the holes in the ozone layer can lead to destruction, the growing holes in my dad’s immune system gave way to deterioration of his mind and body – his wrinkled brow of confusion and hollow cheeks. However, when clients are jovial, laughing and putting on 15 pounds on their previous too lean, distressed bodies, I’m reminded of a different picture of my dad. I see him returning from his walk along Hollingsworth Road, notebook in hand, a red and black plaid cap covering his balding head, and me careening into my parking spot at our condo. He broadly smiles, the corners of his mouth touching his rosy cheeks, he greets me with a hearty welcome home wave.
I will wear the red ribbon on World AIDS Day so that others are reminded that AIDS still exists.
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