And the only measure of your words and your deeds will be the love you leave behind when you're gone

[chronicpaint]

Frank was one of those men that everyone envied. Handsome, muscular, with wavy blond hair and a genuinely kind personality. The kind of man who could let you down so gently that you couldn't feel rejected at all. I never knew him as well as some, but he was a part of my landscape like an historic landmark or a star to steer by. He was there in the community when I came out and I would see him regularly. He always greeted me and gave me a kiss hello.

The end came in the mid nineties and came back from wherever he had been living. I kept tabs through Kim, one of my close friends who was close to him.

AIDS had never touched my world, except in the abstract. I resisted going to see him, but went with Kim and another friend. Frank was a ghost, a shadow of himself. I'm not sure how much he even recognized us.

I found out he died at one of my Sunday brunches. We toasted his life and smiled at how he had touched our lives.

I don't remember whose idea it was to create a panel for the NAMES Quilt, but the Quilt was coming to Saskatoon, so we took the opportunity. Several of us sat down and brainstormed the ideas. Black and Silver because, as a child of the eighties, they were his favourite colours. We decided it should be his coat of arms. It had crossed scissors (he cut hair) and a barbell. We added a CD, a coffee cup and a motto: "Carpe Juvenem" (Sieze the boy) We found a panel of faux leather and made a panel that his friends could sign and kept it at the gay cafe where I was working. By the time we went to add it to the Quilt panel, it was full. I remember holding Kevin as he cried after signing it.

I volunteered for the display of the Quilt and I remember being stunned when they asked me to be an Emotional Support person and Volunteer Coordinator. It was an honour.

The day of the opening ceremonies, I assisted with the opening of the panels, which were in place, but folded. Every ceremony begins that way, with volunteers unfolding the squares, once, then twice to reveal the images on them.

I remember one woman in tears, and sitting with her, just listening.

I remember reading the names of the dead, over the microphone as was done every hour.

And the closing ceremonies, where Dik and I presented Frank's panel to be added. When we were done, we held each other, weeping torrents. Jeff, the organizer of the event, came and hugged us both, saying "Thank you for your gift"

Dik wanted to present more of the panels, but I couldn't. I was spent.

Months later, Jeff brought me a photo of the panel, stitched into its square and on display.

I haven't thought of this in so long. So many details are gone, but the ones that matter are still there and I'm welling up just writing this.

We miss you, Frank. And you too, Tom. And Glen. And DJ Tom.


"The stars we put in place
The dreams we didn't waste
The sorrows we embraced
The world belonged to you and me
The oceans that we crossed
The innocence we've lost
The hurting at the end
I'd go there again,
'cause it was beautiful.
It was beautiful."