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Tim Clare, "Walking
Wounded", 1997. Tin, nails, wood 28"x24"
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Tim Clare
“There are Years that
Ask Questions and Years that Answer”. -Zora Neale Hurston.
1990 was the year that I lost my lover to AIDS. It was a year full of
many unresolved questions for me. After many long, tortured,
agonizing years later, I would receive some answers to the questions
I had. Some will remain unanswered.
Losing a loved one is
difficult enough. Being denied basic rights, such as community
property, the right to grieve and one’s dignity, is even worse.
The death of my lover woke me to the reality of my status as a gay
man, or lack of it, within these “amber fields of grain”
known as America. I held the “Power of Attorney” over
whether my lover lived or died, yet was invisible to many family
members and friends who could not deal with the reality of the
situation. The prejudice against his disease, even within the Gay
community itself, cut even deeper.
My rewards for nursing him,
feeding him, wiping his ass, for holding vigil by his side, and for
walking him to the “Pearly Gates” consisted of: a powder
blue comforter - Queen size, a vacuum cleaner - Hoover, an arm full
of tiki’s - authentic, and a sweet Chihuahua named Bombi - cream
and tan.
The years that followed were
like a black and white Fellini film - played in slow motion - no
intermission. So much has changed since then. The wounds have healed,
now only the scars remain. Sometimes gifts come in strange packages.
While I did not walk away more financially able like most spouses, I
am grateful for the virtues that I received: courage, strength,
motivation, and a creative vision. While I still struggle to make my
rent and car payments on time, a price tag cannot be put on what I
have inherited spiritually and emotionally for having loved
Alifeletti Lotohola Sitani.
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