Mostly when I visit a cemetery, I can separate what it represents from the beauty and peace of the place. I don’t see cemeteries as depressing, unless they have been vandalized.
Last week, though, I struggled. I’ve wanted for a while to write about the National AIDS Memorial Grove in San Francisco, but even though it’s one of the loveliest places in the city, I felt such anger and sadness that I had trouble finding words to express them.
Twenty years ago last month, my friend Blair died of AIDS. The speed of his illness was breakneck and terrifying. I was honored to stay at his house during the last week of his life, administering morphine every 20 minutes around the clock with a handful of his friends and his husband Jeff, my best friend.
Blair was 28 when…
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