AIDS Memorial

When I read the AIDS Memorial on Instagram, which I do regularly, I find it is my way of remembering those people who might otherwise be forgotten, I tend to skip over the girl's stories. (I just caught myself doing it) I guess that is sexist?

I guess, not so much?

Looking at the AIDS memorial is, in part, sentimental, but it is also a dream, a dream of what may have been. Imagining, for me, how life could have been if all of those men were still in our lives. I find it fascinating to see their faces and read their stories.

Not that I am complaining about my life, my life is good, but it would have been different if Fergus and Robin and Ross and Blue and Steve and Doctor Bob were still alive.

And I'm lucky, I only had one really close mate, Fergus, and just a few other friends, who died. Some friendship groups were completely wiped from the face of the earth. Imagine that, all of your friends, and you, gone. It boggles my mind. The empty space, the void, and what it could have been.

So, I read through the names and look at the pictures and think about their lives and, quite often, feel quite sad. It's not a bad sad, I didn't know them, it is a warm, kind of positive, sad because just for that infinitesimal moment I remember them, for a fleeting moment they are alive again. I'm not sure if that really makes sense, but it makes sense to me.