The Aids Memorial Grove

When I go out to SF on day trips, I generally have only a vague plan of attack in mind.  It looks something like this: get off Bart at any stop from Daly City to Civic Center, then either take a Muni bus or train in any direction and hop off where I think looks interesting.  This sort of structure means I rarely have 'repeat performances', but it also means that I don't actually go where I might really want to go.

Since moving back to the states, I've been meaning to visit the Aids Memorial Grove in Golden Gate Park.  I've walked by a few times en route to the Inner Richmond or to the Dutch wind mills or what ever else and I forget to really stop and be present.  I think I've sort of skipped over this place because to be there makes me feel incredibly sad and I resist feeling that way.

My Uncle Gerry, who would have been 73 this past January, died of HIV-related causes in 1986.  His death marked the early end of an epidemic that spanned many years, beginning in the early-80s, killing approximately 15,000 men in San Francisco before drug treatments helped to contain the disease.  Sometimes, when I see gay men who appear to be around Gerry's age it makes me feel both glad to see them alive and wish my Uncle were still here.  I wish he'd lived long enough to have been able to be helped by AZT and other medications that were a boon to many HIV positive men.

Uncle Gerry, his arm 'round Uncle Jim.

I imagine Uncle Gerry and, his partner, Uncle Ric at their apartment on Fulton St.  I imagine theirs a happy and full life.  -maybe they spend summers in Guerneville, a No. California town where they'd lived for some years in the 70s before returning to San Francisco.  What I imagine most is that the family could have had just a little more time with its son/brother/cousin/uncle.  My next trip to the city will include a pointed visit to the Grove and thoughts of dear Uncle Gerry.

Uncle Ric, lookin' good, ca. 1980.