Today is World AIDS Day and anyone who wants to give an honorable mention to anyone who has been effected by this terrible disease, you can do that here with us. Today is a day where we both celebrate the lives of those touched and also mourn the loss of loved ones.

As some of you may or may not know, my biological father was lost to this horrific monster known as AIDS. I know that some in my family may not understand why I continue to remember him. From what I’ve been told, even by his own brother, he did not live an honorable life. He made choices in his life that eventually in the end, left him alone. I, on the other hand, take a different view of the situation. I met my father on three separate occasions. That is it; only three. The first time at his father’s funeral, the second on Father’s Day and the third in the hospital. But from those three short meetings, not only did I see myself in his eyes which I had never felt before from a male figure, but I also saw a man that was in a lot of pain. Not only physical pain from the pneumonia, collapsed lung, COPD and AIDS, but from what his life had become. After his partner died from an AIDS related illness, he was alone. I felt very sad for him which was hard for me because my mother was always there for me and he never was. I didn’t want to betray her or my step-father by starting a relationship with him, but I so desperately wanted to.

The night I was told to come to the hospital to see him, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew he was very sick, but it had been about four months since I’d seen him last. Nothing could prepare me for what I saw. There in the bed laid a man in his fifties that probably weighed about fifty pounds. Hard to breathe from the emphysema, he wasn’t able to talk, but he was conscience and was able to understand what was going on. As I walked into the room that was somewhat dark, I came to his bed. I sat down on a chair next to him and held his frail hand. I looked at him and he looked at me. All the way to the hospital I didn’t know what to say, but at that moment, I knew exactly what to say. I told him that I never cared that he was gay and that what happened between he and my mother was between them. I said that “I have had a good life and I’ve been taken care of and he didn’t ever need to wonder about that.” Before I could get the next few words out of my mouth, tears started streaming down my face; tears of joy and tears of pain. Then the last thing I said to him was “No matter what you’ve done in your life, I forgive you. In my eyes, you will always be my father and no one can take that away from us.”

I got a call from my sister around 3:30am that morning, just two hours after I had left, and she told me that he died. I think apart of me died with him that day. To this day, I still get angry that this disease kept me from knowing him and from him knowing me. I think about what he would say when I tell him that I’m gay too. But all I can do at this point, is be grateful for the three visits I got with him.

I’m sure that my mother is uncomfortable with the idea that I think of him this way. I don’t talk about him with her so its hard to say how she really feels about it. But the way I look at it is this: I don’t care what you’ve done in your life, mistakes you’ve made, people you’ve hurt. There is no reason that anyone should die and be forgotten like they never existed. I have one picture of him when he was 18; its his first military picture. I have a few of his metals he got when he was in Vietnam and I have the flag that was given to my uncle (his brother) at his funeral. I wish I was able to make more memories with him. But I’m thankful for the ones I do have.

He loved Elton John, so this is for you Ben…