My Dear William

On a luminous day in the Spring of 1989, I graduated in Washington Square Park. There, cloaked in purple and black, I stood shoulder to shoulder with what seemed like thousands of strangers and just a few familiar faces. It seemed appropriate that I should stand in the middle of a park where I learned so many lessons, but it was wishful thinking on my part to think that with one swift movement of a tassle I could easily move on to the next chapter of my life. My heart was still in the depths of shock, and the absolute sadness of loss, change, transitions, and denial. A crash course in all stages of grief at once, disregarding each of it's seasons.

His name was William. He was 2 years older and 20 years wiser. I met him my second day of school. A born dancer, his body had a way of creating images in the most natural of ways, as though he were at peace with the space he inhabited. His eyes were tender. To this day, because of his eyes, I equate celestial blue to kindness. He was my assigned dance partner, but became my chosen best friend. I think what intrigued me about William was that as serene as he was with his body and the spaces he inhabited in the external world, he was so conflicted with what moved him on the inside. In the mid 80's coming out was not very accepted. William's parents were not very embracing of his art to begin with, they immediately felt uncomfortable with it, and were not supportive. When I conga'd into his life, he was coming to terms with his sexuality, something that would take him years to feel comfortable with. Here he was struggling with his truths, and I too, had my own issues that shadowed me. I have always been tremendously quirky, a resident of left field, a procrastinator, a late bloomer, and extremely insecure. In grammar school I was bullied, in high school I hid behind my art and a raging eating disorder. Now college was a chance to have fun, to be open to new experiences, but self doubt always got the best of me. Days dancing with William, now that was therapeutic. I think he was the first person I truely felt I could trust again with my thoughts. He got my sense of humor, he understood my crazy. It was an equal exchange, I was more than willing to love him for who he was, an intelligent, loving, talented, generous, beautiful, gentle man who wanted nothing more than to be loved, respected and accepted. We both wanted to fit in. But, this was the mid 80's, and it was the age of HIV/AIDS, it was the center of the paranoia storm, and ignorance did reign. He went on to join a dance troupe in France and leave me rather abruptly, mostly because in a last effort to appease his parents he thought perhaps we could be more than friends. I knew better for the both of us. I was honest because I adored him.
Late March of 89, I recieved a rose. Out of nowhere a man came up to me and said someone had asked him to deliver it. That evening I had a horrific dream involving William and at the suggestion of my mother, went to see my dance teacher to see if she had his contact info. Instead she had a book of poems he had left for me by e.e. cummings, and a letter asking to be read in the park. We walked to the park together. She knew he had Aids and did not want me to be alone when I read his letter. It was a suicide letter, It was his goodbye. It was his rose. The letter was his way of making peace with me. It was an unusually warm March day, the thin branches on the trees still rather bare lest the pinkish green buds just emerging from thier tips....the sky translucent blue...the noise, the hurried bodies racing, the cars in the distant, all fell away....he was gone, and I couldn't save him, I couldn't help him, I couldn't thank him, I couldn't tell him how much I loved him, I didn't get the chance to say goodbye. He didn't give me that chance. He loved me. He told me. He believed in me. I believed in him. but it was never going to be enough. It wasn't enough that my heart broke for him. 22 years later, it still breaks for him.


I could never understand why there is such an issue with anyones sexual orientation. I could never understand how a parent could turn thier back on thier child because of thier preference. I could never understand why any rights should be denied anyone. Because I love and honor the spirit and life of my dear friend, I teach my children that EVERYONE is equal and there is absolutely nothing wrong with being true to who you are. I have been criticized for doing just that but quite honestly, what's in your heart has nothing to do with who you love, it has everything to do with how you love.

William died in the Spring, his favorite season because he loved the idea of rebirth. My oldest son was born in the Spring. We named him William in tribute to my friend. Often I wonder "what if" he had been able to live out his life healthy and happy. How I would have loved for my husband and children to have been able to get to know him, and grow with him.. What turns would his life have taken? What beautiful things he could have contributed given the chance.....

The difference between where I stood in that park on graduation day that Spring, and where I am at now, all these years and lifetimes lived later is that will the shock has dissipated, and I have come to accept the overwhelming loss, I have not made amends with it. I do not think I ever will. His was an unfinished life, and I feel a responsibility to somehow help finalize it. I just haven't figured out how. This is where he would have stepped in and guided me....
This is where he, beautiful as he was, young as he was, lovely as he was, would have told me to knock it off and pay attention..........

His name was William

I love him


And I miss him..............................