Live Like We're Dying

(In a selfless act, Holly wrote this entry for her own blog, without my asking, as a Valentine's gift to me. So I have to thank my guest blog contributor - and wonderful friend and former girlfriend - for this entry. Thank you for this amazing piece. And for giving me a day off from blogging, heh! It's relevant to my own blog & journey for so many reasons... but most of all because it's about loving deeper. Holly, I love you on this Valentine's Day and every other from the day we met 'til the day we part.)

The past six weeks have been a whirlwind. I’ve been so busy the days seem to blur together. I love my work at The English Language Institute, enjoy the blast of new classes and what new things I will discover, can’t get enough “feel-good” moments being a part of MAVS for UNICEF, pinching myself that I'm in my senior year at UT Arlington, psyched about having my sweet Lindsay now living 5 minutes from me in the Arlington area, and the list goes on.

Something exciting has taken the place of getting over the hump I always seem to feel during Christmas time. Christmas does a number on me and until recently—I haven't been able to pinpoint exactly why I feel that way. I dread winter. I think about many things, including how many more Christmas times I will get to spend with my daughter and loved ones.

Congenital heart disease is a bitch on the emotions.

This year I kind of skipped over the winter blues when an amazing gift flowed into my life. The craziest things seem to happen to me. A serendipitous moment comes to my mind.

My ex-boyfriend from my first year after high school drifted back into my life in 2009. Jim Akers. It’s been 23 years since our young romance, but it was unforgettable. I know for sure that the young man I used to love like a young girl does, is as awesome as he was "back in our day."

So many good things come to mind. But now one sad thing ties us irrevocably together and it’s not the many hours spent rolling around in the hay, partying like rock stars, and both of us trying to figure out just who we were.

Dying young. Yes, we share that common denominator now.

After Jim came back around all this time later we both had some sad news to share with one another. Jim has HIV/AIDS. I have congenital heart disease and survive with valve failure thanks to valve transplants.

We share the realities of living on the edge of death with diseases that are killers. Jim told me in written words, “Don’t cry, but I have HIV/AIDS.” I read it three or four times when I opened the message, and then tears flowed freely. I sat alone in my home office at my desk unable to fathom the words in that e-mail.

No way. No. No. No.

Dying young. For me? Yes, quite possibly. I can handle that. But, the people I care for dying young? I can’t handle that well at all. As I write this my eyes well up with tears a bit and if I were at home writing I would let the tears flow.

Jim has been living an incredibly extended life with his AIDS diagnosis. It amazes me. It should. What he does to exhale the next breath, well, there is no way to really describe it unless you’ve been to the edge of the deep dark depths of the canyon of death. The edge is scary. I’ve lost my footing on that edge, but somehow managed to crawl up; clawing, fighting, and screaming inside about dying young.

“What is that pain in my chest? Why am I short of breath? Is this it? Will I die soon? If not now, is it next week that I run to the emergency room for the 1000th time? Will anyone go with me to get help? Or will I die alone? Doesn’t anyone care? Someone please do something.”

So, I may not be able to save myself, and if I can’t do that what can I do? I can shout from the rafters, “Someone listen! Jim might die. Please help me to save him.”

To hell with you HIV. 

That is what I am thinking about and I can’t stop it. Jim is on a mission to ride 545-miles, in 7 days, with AIDS/LifeCycle. I’m on a mission to be his cheerleader. I have a big voice, but not big enough to kill HIV/AIDS. I need your voice too.

So for Valentine’s Day, I think about loving and living. Thank you Jim, your words have been a gift. It meant so much when you described what you do to make the most of each moment in this life.

Jim doesn’t save money for his retirement. He doesn’t climb the professional ladder so much. He’s not stuck in a rut, nor am I. We don’t have time for that. He gets out there. He writes, travels, sings, smiles, jokes, shares his time, loves his friends, loves a stranger… he rides his Cannondale down the coast of the California... not so much to save himself - it's about everyone else. I’m amazed at his positive outlook, and I have been changed for the better having him back in my life.

Folks, HIV/AIDS could be over. All it takes is people like Jim for people to take a second look.

I think he would tell you, “Appreciate your life, make the most of each moment, be selfless as a human can be, live passionately, make a conscious effort every day that you put your feet on the floor to help someone else. Open your eyes and open your heart." So I have and I will.

Let's live like Jim.

Let’s live like we’re dying.

Help me help him put an end to HIV & AIDS by reppin' his ride and donating whatever you can at the link below.

Jim's AIDS/LifeCycle Fundraising Page