Much to my surprise, I found my DSL had been turned on yesterday — a week before it was scheduled for activation.  I was quite surprised that SBC had seen fit to grace me with an early service date given that they had screwed up the schedule and couldn’t find a way to override the dates in their system.  I think it goes without saying that I’m happy to have DSL again.  Dial-up internet access sucks no matter how you cut it.  For someone like me who sends and receives tons of e-mails on a daily basis and does quite a bit on the web, dial-up significantly cramps my style.

As some of you may remember, I suffered an interruption in my internet service when I moved early last year.  The interruption was due to the service provider.

Well, once again I'm without DSL.  Once again it's due to the service provider.  Their idea of "infinite service" is laughable at best.  Yes, I'm talking about SBC.

I originally scheduled the transfer of my DSL and phone service for October 1 based on a move date of October 2.  When I decided to move this past weekend, I called and had the transfers moved up as well.  This is apparently something SBC has little experience with — or little interest in getting right.

Since the original DSL transfer date was set at October 5, it was never changed when I switched the dates to September 17.  I discovered this problem Sunday when I was setting up my computer, so I called SBC to find out when the DSL would be turned on.  That's when they told me it would be another two weeks because the original transfer date had already been processed and it was impossible to change.

It only takes 7-10 days at most to move DSL, so I was a wee bit upset about this.  Sadly the only change they could make to the date was to push it out even further.  That's not acceptable and no one at SBC has any idea of how to change the date to an earlier one, so I'm once again without DSL for a while.  Until the DSL is up and running, my home internet connection is dial-up.  How archaic is that?  This means site updates may not be as forthcoming as I had hoped, but I'll try my best not to leave you hanging for too long.

As for SBC, they suck.  The excuses for this are just that — excuses.  It's pitiful that a technology company is at the mercy of their own technology, unable to change dates in the system once they've been processed.  I think the "infinite service" advertising campaign they're running should be considered false advertisement since I have had three separate experiences with them on this and, in each of those cases, I have found the service lacking to an infinite degree.

My move this weekend was basically uneventful.  Although it was hot and humid, I got moved with little trouble.  Moving is never an easy thing and is always more disruptive than we hope, but I think this one went well.  The Kids are growing increasingly accustomed to the new place (as am I).  I'm tired and sore, but who isn't after moving (when they do the work themselves)?  There's still more organizing to do at the new place and some stuff that needs to be taken care of at the old place, so I'll be working through all of that over the next week or so.

Many thanks to my friends (xocobra and Jenny) for their assistance.  I couldn't have done it without you.

I will say that I'm happy to be out of that place.  As I explained earlier, there were just too many ghosts in the old place.  I'm glad to be moving on with my life now despite the disruption.

There will be no site updates for the next few days (not even Random Thought updates) since I'm moving.  I'm hoping to be back online by Sunday, only missing Saturday, but it could be as late as Monday — depending on how the move goes, of course.

Even before Derek passed away last week I had decided that I needed to move.  It was as much a financial decision as an emotional one.  After Derek moved back to his hometown, it was painfully clear that I didn't need a three bedroom, two bath apartment.  On top of not needing all the space and not wanting to pay for a place this big, the apartment his haunted by memories — ghosts of a life now behind me.

Derek was sick long before we moved here in April of 2003.  In fact, the move was doubly difficult because I had to do all of the work.  I'm not complaing, mind you, as Derek was ill and not able to do more than drive between the two apartments.  After his car accident a few days after we moved, Derek's condition went downhill rapidly until he was hospitalized later in the year.

So this apartment is full of those memories — the ghosts of our last move together, forever marking a turning point in the time we had left; the thoughts of his failing health and the then present knowledge of where it would lead him; the idea that we both liked this place when we chose it, yet I was the only one who really used it because Derek spent most of the time in the hospital; and the clear and indisputable truth that I knew, even back then, that, when our lease ended here, Derek would probably be gone.

I can barely sleep now, haunted nightly by the life we had together before we moved here.  Every time I walk into this place I am reminded of what has been lost.  It's increasingly difficult not to cry when I'm here as I look around me and am assaulted by constant reminders of Derek.  There's the bedroom where his hospital bed is, the place where he spent most of the time when he was here.  There's his office, the room that he only used for a few weeks before being hospitalized and, after that, unable to get his wheelchair into the room because of his desk and other furniture, it remained unused.  There's the bathroom that Jenny and I spent an entire day cleaning after Derek was hospitalized because his body had literally begun to fall apart in there.  There's the kitchen that Derek loved so much despite the fact that he couldn't cook.  There's the patio he adored because of the view but couldn't use when he was home from the hospital briefly because his wheelchair couldn't get out the door and around the corner.  There's the living room where we would sit for hours watching favorite movies, television programs, chatting with each other about work and life, playing with The Kids, reading (each our own thing, of course), eating, and generally spending time together.  There's the long walk from the parking garage — the walk that he could barely make when we moved in and couldn't make shortly thereafter.  And the list goes on…

I am besieged at every moment that I am here, besieged by memories of what was, besieged by the ghosts of a life now behind me, inundated by the images of someone taken too early from this world.

I cannot remain in this place.

So I went apartment hunting recently, looking only for something temporary until I get my feet back under me and my life back on track.  After spending two years caring for Derek and keeping him alive and dedicating my life to his well-being, it's difficult for me to know where to begin to get back to living, but moving out of here is the first step.

I found a place — a nice little one bedroom flat with an attached garage that is just around the corner from where we are (meaning I don't have to leave the neighborhood I love so much).  Because I'm focusing on getting rid of so much of the furnishings that we shared (only because I need desperately to put that behind me and to move on with my own life), I don't need much room right now.  The place is about 760 sqaure feet and will work just fine for the next six months.  It'll be a place where I can work on getting back on top of things, getting my life together again, refocusing my efforts on living rather than on caring for someone who is terminally ill.

I'm going to sign the lease on the new place on Wednesday.  Once that's done, I'm trying everything in my power to move by next weekend.  As of right now, that appears to be entirely doable.

I'm naturally worried about The Kids.  Cats like routine, normalcy, dependability.  Moving is always so hard on them (especially Kako due to her tendency to develop urinary tract infections).  I'll have to keep a close eye on them as cats don't respond well to stress.  I'll be spending extra time with them to assure them that I am not leaving.

You should expect me to be offline for at least a few days starting on Friday.  I hope to be back online by Sunday at the latest.

I step out into eternity…

Back in May of this year I moved my various sites to a new hosting provider and a new dedicated server.  The hosting provider was Angel Networkz, a small company which had a good reputation in the web hosting space.  Their prices were reasonable, they had good dedicated server packages available, and I had a friend using them who had good things to say about their service.  Seemed like a simple decision at that point…

Read the rest of this entry »

I ran across this quote today while I was updating the Random Thoughts database.  I'd like to dedicate it to Derek and the nuclear and extended families that he leaves behind.  This is a great sorrow.  May we have the courage to live our lives with the same passion and fierce determination with which Derek lived his.

Derek, your task is complete.  You have ventured on a dangerous journey and now behold the foothills of new lands.  It's time for you to rest.

Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace.

Victor Hugo

I received a call earlier this evening from Kevin, one of Derek's brothers, and I could tell from the tone of the message he left that Derek was gone.  While I was on the phone dialing Kevin's number, I received another call from Derek's childhood and best friend, Cos, which I allowed to roll to voice mail.  It too was a message indicating that I should call back as quickly as possible.

Kevin had not yet arrived at the hospice when I reached him on his cell phone.  He had needed to pick up his and Derek's father (we'll call him Bob), so he wasn't to the hospice and didn't have all of the details available.

What I do know is that Derek had spent his last day with his mother.  Kevin indicated that they thought Derek waited for his mother and, once he spent the day with her, felt there was nothing left to do here.

I got off the phone with Kevin so he could get Bob into the hospice and to Derek's room. I then called Cos.

Cos and Derek go way back.  They were childhood friends from very early on and grew up together.  Although they had grown more distant over the last eight years (while Derek was living in Dallas), they had always been best friends and cared deeply for each other.  This was evidenced by Cos' apparent tears when he answered the phone.

We talked briefly, me listening to him explain that he had heard just a few minutes before he called me.  Still feeling numb from the news, he was lost for expression.

We agreed that Derek was better off now, not suffering as he had done for the last two years.  We were happy for him.  We understood that he had taken advantage of the opportunity to clear the air with his family; he had been able to address both his sexuality and his disease with a family who only wanted to help, to be there for their loved one, to provide for him in his need, to spend the last moments of his life with him.  Derek had been able to resolve the last remaining vestiges of the secret life that had made him increasingly distant from his family.

We agreed on this.  We agreed again that his passing was an end to his suffering, the most important fact to remember, and that he no longer had to survive the downward spiral of his health.

As I sit here writing this entry, the numbness has settled over me like a fog.  I can feel it all around me.

I am touched by the memories that you leave behind.  I am glad that your family had the chance to know you — the real you that I have known for these past eight years.  I am sorry you had to suffer at all and am truly happy that you suffer no more.

I will miss your quick wit and your charm.  I will miss your sometimes child-like behavior.  I will miss your fierce intelligence.  I will miss how outrageously funny you could be.  I will miss your tendency to indulge your excessive preoccupation with politics.  I will miss doing things together.  I will miss watching you with The Kids and knowing how completely safe they were with you despite your taunting.  I will miss a great many things now that you're gone.

You fought the good fight and you fought it well, but now the day has ended, my friend.  Your difficult journey has come to an end.  Know that Mom was right when she said that there will always be a special place for you in our hearts.

I miss you.  And I love you.

Today is Kako and Kazon's sixth birthday.  It's amazing how quickly time escapes us.  It seems like it was just a few years ago that they were sickly little kittens at the local Humane Society, looking for a home and someone to nurse them back to health.  That was in 1998!  Both of them have grown up into such different cats — one, Kako, is an independent woman who doesn't take shit from anyone; the other, Kazon, is the sweetest cat I've ever known who fits his aptly applied nickname of "puppy."

I'm sorry that Derek isn't here to celebrate with us as he loves The Kids wholeheartedly.  We'll celebrate for you, my friend.

Despite my best intentions, I have spent the last three months becoming increasingly angry about Derek's situation.  My anger is fueled as much by his condition as his family situation.  No, I'm not angry at his family — I'm angry about why his family wasn't involved earlier in his care.  Derek's health is failing fast and his doctors confirmed on Monday that he doesn't have much time left.  This is no surprise to me, but it's a tremendous shock to his family who all feel as though this is so very sudden.  It's not, as I've said before, since we've been dealing with his most critical health problems for the last two years (he's been dealing with general health problems for the last four years).  From their perspective, though, it's very sudden since they've only been involved for the last month.

Each day that goes by sees a greater decline in his mental condition, expeditiously destroying who he is and taking him away from his environment and those around him.  His physical health is rapidly declining as well.

Why am I angry?  There are many reasons.

I'm angry about the disease itself.

It's a horrible thing to watch someone whose body is used against them, whose body provides the very ammunition the disease needs to win, whose body strengthens the disease by fighting it.  It's upsetting to know that, in the last 15 years, I have watched three friends die from this disease and am about to see the fourth taken from me in the same devastating way.  The physical decline is horrific, but the mental decline is even worse.  You watch someone taken from you a piece at a time, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

I'm angry about the feeling of helplessness.

I've spent two years of my life taking care of him, ensuring he was safe and cared for, managing his health care, meeting with his doctors, taking care of his finances and employment, and being there for him so he always had someone to rely on — the worst thing in these circumstances is to feel like you have to face it alone.  I sacrificed my own happiness and well-being in the process.

Despite all the sacrifices, though, and all the hard work, there was ultimately nothing I could do to save him.  The best I could hope for was to manage the illness as best I could to ensure some level of quality in his life.  Even now the futility of the situation continues to manifest itself.  His body has given up the fight, no longer able to maintain even some level of health.  His immune system is gone.  And now his mind is being directly attacked from two directions.  Again, his body is being used against him.  How can you fight that?

I'm angry about the sadness.

I'm sad that Derek will be leaving soon.  He's been a close friend, roommate, confidant and part of my family for the last eight years.  There is a hole in my heart and my life that Derek once filled.  He filled it with his wit, his charm, his sarcasm, his intelligence, his friendship, his caring, and his child-like discovery of who he was.  There is nothing that can ever fill the void he leaves behind.  There will be other friends like Derek, but there will never be another Derek.

I'm angry about what might have been for Derek.

Derek's only 37.  He will not see 38.  He will not enjoy more holidays with his family (made worse by the fact that he missed the holidays with them last year because he was hospitalized).  He will not celebrate another birthday.  He will not be able to enjoy more time with The Kids (made more angering since Derek loved them so much).  He will not be there for his family as his parents grow older.  He will not live through the birth of another niece or nephew.  He will not find true love.  He will not see himself successful in his career.  He will not look forward to retirement.  He will not celebrate his parents' anniversary again.  He will not laugh at another joke, smile at the charm of another movie, cry about some emotionally hurtful event in his life, or remember how much his family loved him and were there for him at the end.

I'm angry about his family's loss.

Because Derek is gay, he didn't feel that he could tell his family everything that was happening.  This is society's fault because it is society that has taught us all that being gay is morally wrong and unacceptable.  How can a son confide in his own family when society is constantly telling him he's bad — bad because of who he is?  He didn't choose to be gay; he was born that way, yet society tells him it's his fault and that he's an evil person because of it.  So he spent two years being very sick without the support of his family.

And society tells us that having AIDS is a bad thing.  When you're diagnosed with cancer, there is no stigma that causes people to fear you, to think that you did something wrong to deserve the disease you have.  On the contrary, society pities you when you have cancer.  But they revile you when you have AIDS.  So Derek felt shame in sharing his disease with his family, in allowing them to help in his time of need, because he feared the rejection he might experience.

Because of both of these problems, his family lost precious time with him.  They were left out of his need and only allowed to participate at the end.  They lost time.  They're losing their son.  And society doesn't care.

I watch his family members struggle with the truth of it all, the suddenness (from their perspective) of his decline, the impending loss.  I hear their regrets, their lamentations, their sorrow, their anger… and I understand where it all comes from.

I'm angry about feeling guilty.

I feel guilty about going on with life when Derek cannot.  I feel guilty about not doing more even though there was nothing else I could have done.  I feel guilty about not calling his family sooner even though I couldn't (I had to respect his wishes).  I feel guilty about being angry just a few months ago, angry that I had sacrificed so much to take care of him over the last two years.  I feel guilty about not being able to share The Kids' lives with Derek (since he was such a big part of their lives until two years ago when he was hospitalized).  I feel guilty for my health and well-being.

I'm angry about society's indifference.

Being both gay and HIV-positive, Derek is one of the forgotten sons of America, one of those our society so readily labels an outcast and tosses aside so so much refuse, one of those who, according to society, somehow deserves this terrible fate.  I'm angry that society is so blinded by their bigotry and hypocrisy that they wallow in the deaths of those who aren't like them.  They will find themselves with the blood of millions on their hands and will wonder where it came from, blinded by their own hate and intolerance.  They are directly responsible for the limited time Derek's family has had to spend time with him and care for him since it is they who forced Derek into the shadows.

And society is responsible for the survivors not being able to talk openly about their loss, having to hide it from most of those around them because it is AIDS and because of the stigma of that and of his homosexuality.  He is an outcast of society, so his family and friends must suffer in silence, they must weep in the shadows, they must hide their loss.

If society responded to AIDS the way they do cancer, we would be spending far more money on it than we are.  We would have better treatments, better options, better care, longer lives.  But, instead, we have the stigma of a gay disease where those who have it deserved it, those who have it aren't worth saving.  It's a shame, and it angers me.

I'm angry about being angry.

This is a time of loss, a time of caring for loved ones and helping each other through what is a terrible event in life.  Yet I am angry, and that angers me more.  I'm angry because our society doesn't care.  Our society is so full of misguided religious fervor that tragedies like this are called "God's justice" and are overlooked, promptly becoming just another statistic in a report on some government officials desk.  Those who are left behind continue to suffer because of society, but society doesn't care.  I should be focused not on anger but on sorrow, on caring for Derek and his family.

Yes, I'm very angry. And I have every right to be.