It was the early 2000s, and I was still a teenager. I wasn’t out yet. I was so angry when Billy died because I didn’t understand. Billy didn’t have to die, but he couldn’t afford the medication he needed to save his life, and he couldn’t get insurance because of discrimination against people with preexisting conditions.
I met Billy doing community theater. By the time I had met him, HIV had taken its toll, but he was one of the most beautiful people I’d ever met. He must’ve been around the age I am now – his early to mid-30’s. He had such a kind heart.
Despite his terminal situation, he loved this world and he loved people. He’d help anybody any time. He was gentle, and sweet, and he really cared about others. He was compassionate, and never careless with people. He had a tranquility about him that I still find hard to comprehend. Billy was an inspiration, and he didn’t have to die.
But he did. We were all heartbroken. We cried. We hugged. We sang “Seasons of Love.”
So why was I lucky? Because a whole generation of our community had to watch this happen to so many more amazing people than I did. Over several decades, they lost countless friends, acquaintances, family members, best friends, lovers. Losing Billy still breaks my heart, so I can’t even imagine the pain they carry, the grief that visits.