Hello there! My apologies for such a delay in posting. I will get to work with photos of our great weekend in Montana soon, but wanted to write with a few updates first.
Top of the list -- happy birthday, Dad! And happy first birthday to Hazel, the daughter of one of my oldest friends. You two are proof that August 13 is truly a great day.
Second -- I made THREE French desserts last night for a dinner we had here for the next family heading to Hokkai Gakuen University in Sapporo and some other families who have recently been on that exchange. There were 17 people there (17!) and we all had a great time laughing about our time in Sapporo and enjoying the food and friends. On the French side of things, I whipped up a quick gateau au chocolat in the morning, and then in the afternoon, in between marinating the salmon, creating a pesto pasta salad, and making my grandmother's cucumbers and cream recipe, I turned out a tarte au citron and tarte aux pommes. The chocolate cake and lemon tarte were the favorites (and the salmon wasn't bad, either)... and I had so much fun doing it. Anytime I make these recipes, I am transported back (almost) to "our" kitchen in La Maison des Chaumes, to cooking with Geraldine, to the night my French "host mother" taught me how to make her delicious gateau, to picking out the best produce at the market, to all those moments sharing food with friends. Such good time, both there and here.
Third -- I got an email yesterday morning that I wanted to write about, even though it has nothing to do with France, Japan, kids, or travel. It was from the photographer at the newspaper I worked with on SO many stories from 1997-2003. The email began "Hey Lis, didn't ever want to send you a message like this, but I spent a good portion of last night at the hospital with Bob."
I met Bob in the spring of 1998, when he came into our office with an announcement about the local AIDS walk. He said he hoped the newspaper would be there -- he would, he said, because it was on his birthday, his 36th, and his doctor had just told him this birthday (in 1998) would be his last.
Bob was diagnosed with HIV in 1992 and full-blown AIDS in 1996 (I had to go back into the newspaper archives to look that up... I can remember a lot but some details have gotten fuzzy), and he told me that day in the office that he had decided to spend his last year educating people -- children, nursing students, anyone who he could talk to -- about AIDS.
So Cat and I followed Bob and Joe, his partner who also had AIDS, through their medical appointments, birthday parties, public talks, and quiet hours in their home. We heard about and saw and wrote about a different side of life in Allentown and Bucks Country and Philadelphia, one far more colorful (and dangerous) than the life I was living, that's for sure. And along the way, we all became friends.
And although Cat and I didn't know it at the time, our story of how one man decided to spend the last year of his life instead became a story of the moment AIDS turned from a deadly disease to a chronic disease, as well as a story of two people who loved each other very much. You see, Bob's new cocktails of drugs his doctor was giving him in 1998 turned out to be ones that would keep him alive until 2010.
And keep him alive still. That was the stunning thing about Cat's email. The night she spent in the hospital with Bob and Joe was because Joe -- Joe who never seemed as sick as Bob, Joe who was always there at Bob's side, loving and supporting and caring for him -- had had a heart attack brought on by kidney failure. Cat emailed again yesterday to tell me that Joe died at about 2 p.m.
The news has brought back so many memories of that year we spent with Bob and Joe, as well as the visits and stories and Christmas cards and letters and baby gifts and updates that followed, even when we moved to Canada. Joe's death has filled my heart with an unexpected sadness... partly brought on surprise (Joe is sick? I thought as I read that first email... don't you mean Bob?). But most of all, the sadness is for Bob, who loved Joe so much.
This morning, I went back in the archives of the paper and read one of stories I had written about Bob and Joe, this one after Bob had been hospitalized. It ended this way:
***
All the while, Burton's partner, Joe, stood quietly by his side. He said this was the first time he was truly worried about his partner of three years, because this time he didn't know why Burton fell ill.
After offering his usual encouraging words and making sure the hospital had the right medicine for Burton, Joe said it was time to go.
"You'll be home soon," Joe said.
"I know."
"Love you," Joe said, and walked out the door.
After taking a few steps in the quiet of the hallway, Joe turned around and returned to Burton's room for one more goodbye.
A moment later, he left again, walking quickly.
"I hate saying goodbye," he whispered.
***
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