Dear Readers...

...I don't ask you for much. A comment here and there, maybe some linkage, IM chats when there's time. Today, I'm asking you all for a favor.

On June 11, 1991, the way I saw the world changed forever. It had been a fairly normal day; my job at the Boston College Campus School was winding down, and I had found out I was accepted to BC, and was preparing to enter after a year's hiatus from school. My family and I were preparing dinner, when we heard a lot of commotion outside. "Something's going on at Haskell's," my sister said. To be truthful, I don't remember who exactly went across the street to our neighbor's house, but whoever it was came back inside, pale as a ghost. "Darren's dead. He killed himself."

Darren was four years older than I was, and I had known him since I was 7 years old. He was one of those neighborhood boys who snapped your bra strap, or teased you about your hair, but also sat on the porch and gossipped with the girls, and never had a girlfriend, and was always more comfortable dishing dirt than playing in it. I'd always suspected Darren was gay, even before I really knew what that was, and a few years previous to this, another neighborhood friend had confirmed it. And I was happy for him; he was finally himself. Then, before his 25th birthday, he was dead. He had committed suicide, by hanging himself in his hospital bed, a Boston hospital that will remain nameless. He hung himself because he was already dying of AIDS. Having just buried his lover, he began to get sick. And depressed. He checked himself into the hospital begging to be admitted to the psychiatric ward. He was having suicidal thoughts, but the hospital's policy at the time was to isolate patients with AIDS, and no counselor ever saw him. Darren hung himself with a bed sheet.

This information all came out later on that year, through depositions and talks with the neighbors. But that day changed everything. It brought what had been a back-burner issue for me into full relief. I had lost someone to AIDS. I remember not knowing how to deal with it. His funeral was excruciating. I thought about him every single day. Then, early in the spring, I saw an ad for the AIDS Walk Boston, and I knew what to do.

Every year I have walked in this event has been powerful for me. I have cried every year during the opening ceremonies. I've had conversations with Darren, written him letters on memorial walls, and just remembered all the stupid goofy things we did as kids. And every year I walked, I walked with the knowledge that because I'm doing this, maybe I can spare one family--just one family--the heartache of my neighbors. I walked for four years in a row, then I didn't make a fundraising goal, and stopped for a long time. This year marks 15 years since Darren died, and I feel that I owe it to our friendship and his memory to walk again.

So, dear readers, occassional commentors, and friends, I am asking you to support me in the AIDS Walk Boston. I have an online fundraising page, linked here, where you can donate by credit or debit card. There is also a link on that page to download a form to donate by check if you prefer. I am urging, nearly begging you, to consider giving me your monetary support in this endeavor. Any gift you can give is deeply appreciated, and I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

PS, I will be creating a button to add to my sidebar that I will keep up until the day of the walk, June 4, 2006. If you can't donate today (while this post is still visible), perhaps later on in the month you can.

Thank you, and God bless all of you.