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Don






Sometime around either 1994 or 1995 there was a dear friend named Don, who my partner and I looked after closely as he lived with AIDS and AIDS complications. During that time, the health care facilities were still treating AIDS patients quite horribly. When we visited him in his room in the final days, we had to wear gowns, masks, gloves. He was in a negative pressure room. These are usually reserved or patients with tuberculosis. Don told us the night before he died that he was going home at 11p.m.. He also spoke about a man sitting at the end of his bed. He told us the man was an angel and was going to take him home. He described him as having very beautiful skin, very muscular and very handsome. Don never shied away from pointing out when he found a man handsome. 

Don himself was very handsome. Until the end of his life he maintained a bronze tan. Often laying out in the sun nude, which never got easier to deal with when we paid him unplanned or planned visits. He had long, wavy brown hair and big brown eyes. His personality was magnetic. He never met a stranger, always smiling, always cutting up. He was a designer by trade, designing store front displays for the local department store. He took a lot of pride in his work. He decorated his apartment as well on his modest income. His biological family had disowned him when they discovered he was HIV positive. His collected family of friends though, continued to love and care for him through to the end. 

The night Don died, we had visited him in the hospital for many hours. He was having what were considered to be "hallucinations." He told us that the angel told him that he was going home at 11p.m.   My partner handed him her hospital I.D. badge because he kept reaching for it. She told him it was his ticket to go home. When we left, she left the badge behind. That night, around 11:45, we received a phone call from the hospital. Don had died, time of death, 11p.m.  In his hand, was her name tag. 

Don had died and I grieved a death of a loved one for the first time in my adult life. I had a hard time letting him go. My partner and I spoke of him daily as well as cried about him daily. One night, within the week of his death, we were sitting in our downstairs den and telling Don stories. I was crying and feeling so sad wondering if he was okay. 

Suddenly, the touch lamp at the end of the couch, turned off. We both turned our heads and looked at the lamp, as we did, it came back on. We looked at one another and again, the lamp turned off. My partner said, "Don, if that's you, turn the lamp back on." The light turned on. She then said, "Don, turn off the light." The light, off. We told him that we missed him and we thanked him for visiting us. The light never turned off or on again without us touching it. 


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