On a Friday night over a week ago, I stood under a tent in a large urban park at a memorial service for no one in particular and for every one on this planet. I held the microphone in my hand and began. Began again. To tell my story of AIDS.
Friday night was a small candlelight ceremony for those who have been lost to HIV/AIDS in our community, and they were celebrated that evening by those under the tent. But I have lost no one. No one I can hold up a photo for. No one I can memorialize on a T-shirt, flag or banner.
I held that microphone as tightly as I hold my son. That was who I was fighting for, I said. Sixteen years ago, I held a newborn boy in my arms as I volunteered for the first time along the route of the AIDS Walk. Months before he was born, a friend had asked me to help. Standing in the grass on a spring morning sounded magical to me in my eighth month of pregnancy. When the day arrived, it was dreamlike. Me, my husband, my new son – all sporting little red ribbons and helping a band entertain walkers and enthusiastic runners in the sun.
Every year since, I have worked on the Walk and moved up through the volunteer ranks. Route helper, volunteer coordinator, project coordinator, special event committee person, steering committee member, Walk co-chair. Every year since that first one, I’ve had a little hand in mine or a little head in my eyesight on Walk day. My son has never missed a Walk and now joins me as a full-fledged committee member on one event. Walk day is a family reunion for all of us.
My story is short and simple. I desire deeply a world without AIDS for my son. For all sons and daughters and mothers and fathers. Sisters. Brothers. A world free of stigma and hate. Pointed fingers and whispered admonishments will be behind us. Every year I renew my commitment to making that world come to be.
This year I stood in the light rain as my son walked by me carrying a dated memorial flag representing the 25 years of the AIDS Walk. Three long blocks later, I looked up, and there was my niece sporting a flag of her own. This one held the name of someone who no longer walks. She carried it to its final place with the others in a circle of flags that every one of the 2,000+ walkers walked by. My tears were easily covered by Mother Nature’s water show.
They are my future and my chance to live in an AIDS free world. They’ve never known one.
I believe that they will.
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Lovely, Sloane, thank you for your work and love for your community.
Lisa: We are all in this together. I stand right beside you in this battle. That is my greatest gift. – sloane
Thank you for all your tireless work on this cause in our community. I am proud of you. And, my daughter admires her Auntie LaLa very much.
She is amazing, that Sawyer. – sloane
Sloane,
I have done the AIDS Walk once, in memory of my brother, Charles Wienstroer. Charlie died from AIDS in April 1993 at the age of 41. Having survived another scary virus, Polio, I did the walk in my wheelchair. Many people were involved in the “March of Dimes” trying to raise money to bring a vaccine to rid us of that horror. I too hope and pray that my children and grandchildren won’t have to worry about HIV. Thank you for all you have done.
Sincerely, Ted WIenstroer
Ted: I believe there is a flag with your brother’s name on it. I do not work on the memorial part of the Walk, my friend Terry Newell heads that up, but I swear I’ve seen your brother’s name before.
We are all in this together. I appreciate your thanks and say the same to you. – sloane
Thanks, nice to know.
so many causes out there, so much work to do….all we can do is take one step and one day at a time to keep trying to make a better world for our children, for us, for all the good people of the planet who deserve a better world. Thank you for your work, love for others and making a difference, happy mom’s day to you on sunday, on everyday 🙂
Sue: What nice things to say! I enjoy the basic fact that we are all in this together! Have a great day. – sloane