Deo Gratia

From the 70's to the 90's I was active in Lutherans Concerned, an organization advocating for LGBT people within the Lutheran church. This work included a series of articles for the Chicago and National publications of LC. I plan to post some of those articles, and this is the first such post.  Reprinted from Reconcile, Lent 1989.

DEO GRATIA

He pulled up in a Jaguar convertible, and got out wearing the latest Giorgio Armani suit. The others waiting at the airport shuttle station watched with envy as I threw my suitcase in back and got in. He looked tan and fit and beautiful and gay, and I was intimidated: Gorgeous blonds driving Jaguars are a little out of my league. This wasn't what I'd expected when I told him I was flying in to visit. When he moved back home a year ago, I didn't expect to see him again alive. He'd had PCP all winter, and had many of usual symptoms of AIDS: night sweats, nausea, shortness of breath, weight loss. hHe’d been diagnosed with ARC a year earlier, was depressed and drinking heavily. We'd talked by phone weekly, but he avoided talking about his health and when we discussed my upcoming visit, his responses were odd. I expected something wrong, that he'd be sick, emaciated, bedraggled, driving a beater. What a relief! He was healthier and more relaxed than I was. 

We went back to his apartment (pool, private patio, fireplace) and began to catch up. Turned out the Jag belongs to his boss, and he was relaxed via tranquilizer: he was nervous about my visit. But we're still friends. At dinner at the local gay restaurant he shared a little more. At first he was cautious, feeling out my reactions, but as the evening wore on (and the drinks took hold) he told how his new job is less stressful, his cell count is much better, and he has a new boyfriend. The boyfriend is beautiful, but with KS and too ill to join us for dinner.

After dinner we went to the disco. In the old days, you'd talk about who was hot, and who was sleeping with whom. This night, as we greeted people (he seemed to know half the bar) he told me who was on chemo, who just got out of hospital, who he knew from the AIDS hospice, and pointed out a guy who'd been HIV positive for 7 years but was doing great. We talked about his hope for new treatments, and the importance of positive attitude. All this wasn't a scare tactic, or "poor me", just his day-to-day gossip, living with reality. We also talked about our work, mutual friends, his years volunteering in Guatemala and my work with LC, and his horror when he realized that at age 29 ³/4 he didn't know the words to the dance music.

As we got ready to go home, a moment of truth arrived. He'd been reluctant to put me up because he had only one bed. I'd been worried, too. In our circles "sleeping together" is often assumed. I was afraid to say no, and didn't want to say yes. He said no for me. For him it's a moral issue not to put people at risk, so he only has sex with other HIV+ guys (like the other volunteers at the hospice). He wanted to make that clear up front. On the other hand, he would cuddle…and cuddle we did, and talk, until 4 a.m.

We talked of lovers he'd had, and his volunteer work at the hospice, of his "dumb blond" image and his political activism...of his life. We talked of his health and what he was doing to maintain it, and of his various symptoms. We didn't talk about death, but about life. We didn't talk about God, though God was present there.

In the morning, he lent me a robe he got from a past resident at the hospice. During brunch we watched people leave mass at the church across the street. "It's amazing how many guys are Catholic and you'd never know it. I've been to more funerals there." After brunch we visited the hospice. Only three beds for one of America's largest cities, and not church related, that's for sure! He dropped me at the apartment and went to visit his sick boyfriend. Two hours later he called: his friend was alone and real sick, he'd be a while. Two hours later he called again; the boyfriend had 104⁰ fever and was delirious. They didn't want to go to the hospital, it wouldn't help.

I didn't get to cuddle that night, and when I left for work the next morning, he still wasn't home. We've talked on the phone, but I haven't said goodbye. It's premature. And I haven't said thank you, to the "dumb blond" who, in the midst of death, through service, teaches life.

Lent, 1989 

David Kieschnick Coordinator
Lutherans Concerned/Chicago

Silence=Death