For the rest of 2009, I searched the internet, off and on about people who were grieving the loss of their spouses or partners when finally around December 2009, I stumbled onto a blog called "Dan, In Real Time". (This is the "Dan" to which this post is entitled and dedicated).
Dan had lost his husband Michael on September 13, 2009, exactly four months after my Chuck died. However, Dan had found a productive way to express himself through blogging about his life with Michael, and by exploring and chronicling his own grief process, in gloriously articulate, honest detail.
Dan's reasons for doing it this way were not just for himself, but for people just like me, who could "visit" the blog, knowing I was in the company of a kindred soul. Through Dan's blog, I also discovered that Dan was my age, almost exactly I think, and that we also had our professional backgrounds in common--Psychology, Medicine, and Developmental Disabilities. I quickly and readily became very trusting of Dan, without hesitation. (Unusual for me.)
But through the core of Dan's blog, his forthright honesty and eloquence and full unapologetic disclosure commanded my respect and admiration as well, almost immediately. Despite my clinical background, plus personal life experiences of far too many deaths between 1980 and 1992 from AIDS, I had now become a "student" in the school of grief. This made Dan my teacher, and in my mind's eye, my savior.
I finally reached out and introduced myself, thanked him, and told him that I had decided to begin a blog of my own, about my Chuck. Dan was supportive, encouraging and almost always made a point to acknowledge me after I would leave comments at the end of his almost daily postings.
My primary blog back then, (Chuck's life, Continued) was supposed to be somewhat like Dan's--a chronicle of personal disclosure for myself to reflect upon. Instead, it consisted of a few postings of how Chuck and I had met, etc., followed by abstracts of the parallels of each of our life circumstances. While these were certainly "true" they were not achieving my day-to-day experiences of the grief I was feeling. I was missing the whole point, and skirting the real issues. Realizing this, I felt ashamed at first, as if betraying Chuck's memory.
I remember having commented to Dan, several times, that in my mind, I was feeling something gnawing at me. An unclear memory, an event, or maybe a trauma from the distant past, and that I was committed to exploring and discovering exactly what this was.
I finally figured it all out, and, put the pieces together. The answers had been right in front of me all along, out in the open. My memories of my early childhood experiences, the course of events leading up to them, had just never been given my "adult acknowledgment" of their true depth and life-shaping significance. This is what I had blocked away, deep into the recesses of my mind. These memories were now trying to emerge and re-establish themselves, which begins as follows:
Just after turning age four, in November, 1964, I had been taken away from my home by my Uncle Carmen. For nearly a year.
HANG ON--THIS RIDE GETS BUMPY:
Just four years old, but very bright and precocious, I was not aware of the reasons for my abrupt departure with Uncle Carmen. The details of reasons unfolded in the years that followed, in small steps, in little age-appropriate pieces at a time. Great care was taken not to traumatize me. Although our departure from Boston was tainted with urgency and sadness of my parents, they did their best to make the departure feel like an "exciting adventure of fun". The saving grace here, the thing that made it all okay for me, was that I deeply loved and trusted my Uncle Carmen without reservation.
The need for my departure came about slowly at first, following the JFK assassination of November, 1963. (An event which I vaguely and barely remember, only as a time of sadness and panic.) That had been the indirect "backdrop" which set off a course of events over the following year, which led to the need for my departure.
My parents had been actively involved with the efforts of Martin Luther King, Jr., whose civil rights activity had begun in the late 1950s, but had gained substantial momentum when JFK took office in 1960.
They (my parents) had never met Dr. King, nor JFK, but were liaisons to both, by sharing information between the two "administrations" through various contacts of each. They were responsible for helping to disseminate information relevant to the advancement of the peaceful emphasis of the movement. They would alert their contacts, or receive alerts when word of violence or plans of any "incidents" were imminent. They also held fund raising events, under the guise of "helping impoverished families", which was true, except "impoverished" usually meant black people who were being brutalized with oppression, violence and brutality.
Shortly after the JFK assassination word eventually reached my parents that persons who had been acting as they were, had become "targets" of those who opposed JFK's policies regarding MLK's civil rights movement. Although JFK was gone, MLK's movement was still eagerly furthering its ideals, continuously gaining momentum.
As acts of threats and intimidation became more frequent, and less subtle, it was clear that the children of the activists (like me) were the objects of interest.
My parents had no choice at this point. Carmen had a viable plan. My parents only objected to the fact that he would be taking me so far away, and for so long--to Spain, and for up to a year. Also there would be no communication during this period. But, it seemed infinitely safe, so the plan became action.
Carmen was not my "real" uncle. He was a long trusted friend of both my parents, from before they were married. So close, and visiting us so often, he was referred to as Uncle Carmen. He was about twenty-five at this time, and had spent over a year at a Monastery in 1961-62, when he "earned his garments". Whatever type of monastic study he was undergoing, had advancement protocols which earned him various adornments which represented his advancement. His return for further studies coincided with the need to remove me from my parents, so he made it happen, arranging the transport, helping to rush my passport processing and other arrangements. Carmen was also influential in gaining the support of some international Christian charities--a collection of small organizations which collaborated with assistance for my departure and transport to Spain. It was a lengthy and arduous journey for both of us.
The train from Boston to New York was the easiest leg of the journey, and the most comfortable. I remember this very clearly. I had never been on a "big" train before, just the small subways of Boston.
From New York, we boarded a boat--a ship actually, a cargo ship. I can still remember how amazed I was at the size of this ship. It was so big, that all I saw from the dock was a tall metal wall--I couldn't even distinguish its shape as a vessel until we approached the gangway. It was dusk when we boarded, and a light fog surrounded the vessel. Its length and girth were only visible to me by the many lights strung above our heads, from one end of the ship to the other, which vanished into the fog.
Carmen met and spoke briefly with some men on board, who seemed to know him. He introduced me, but they were speaking Spanish, and I didn't understand very much. Carmen told me "That was the Captain of this ship--he invited us to eat supper with him."
I was glad at that, as I was hungry and tired from the train ride, but not for long. After eating, and off to bed, I awoke some time later, throwing up into a bucket. Carmen had heard my distress during sleep, got the bucket, and held me up during the process.
I was mad at myself for this. I was afraid Carmen might be mad at me too. He wasn't. He was so gentle and warm. He lightly massaged my back, and patted my forehead with a cool damp cloth. It was very reassuring and I felt better quickly. He explained that this was "sea-sickness", from the rocking of the boat, and that I would get used to it.
I did get used to the boat quickly, which was a blessing, as this was a much longer boat trip than I had thought it would be. I lost count of the days and nights.
Finally, a warm sunny late November morning we were approaching land. Spain! I had only looked at it on a map once, briefly, and had no frame of reference at all. I just remembered that we were headed somewhere near the "middle" of the map of Spain.
A smaller boat came out to the cargo ship and ferried us and some crew members to shore, into a port called Cadiz. It was hot, and smelled like dead fish everywhere. Carmen was quick to point out that we were headed north from here, and that it would be much cooler very soon. We had to walk a long way, then hired a car, which brought us to a train station. This train was scary. It was old, rusty, and had broken out windows in the cars. Carmen reassured me, but urged me to stay quiet. It was crowded, the people on the train were loud. Although speaking spanish, it was obvious they were talking about us, pointing and laughing. This made me nervous, and I huddled close to Carmen. Then, in one graceful movement, Carmen slowly rose out of his seat, raised his arms, hands on the back of his head, and flexed all of his muscles, stretching, cracking his neck, twisting his body--which was about six foot three inches--then slowly sat back down reaching out his right arm over my shoulder, pulling me close to his side.
All the rowdy laughter stopped at once. Carmen was a very large, very strong, handsome man. Once these people got a glimpse of his statuesque muscular body and perhaps caught the glint of his deep, shadowy eyes, they wisely thought better of bothering us. I loved Carmen. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.
The last parts of the journey went quickly. First, a car ride from the train station to a small stable. Then, a horse-drawn wagon filled with straw. Carmen explained that this was how everyone arrived at the Monastery. The horse had taken this trip so many times, it needed no guidance. It led us into the woodlands, over high sloping meadows, then woodlands again. We finally emerged at the top of a hill, rounded a bend which opened up onto a shallow valley. At the bottom was a sprawling, magestic stone "compound". The Monastery at last.
I was teeming with excitement and anticipation. Carmen smiled too, not just at my joy, but his own. He had a very content, relaxed expression on his face. He was home.
The older monks greeted us first, there were about thirty in all, plus a dozen or so servants, all men. Women were absolutely not allowed here, under any circumstances. Neither were children, but I was an exception--a strong exception, as I would soon come to know.
After the greetings, some prayers, and ritual hand and face washing, the younger brethren entered the hall, bringing ease and comfort and much needed refreshments in their wake. I was happy and comfortable. Some of the monks approached me, recited words in a strange new language, and "blessed" me by marking my forehead in the shape of a cross as they spoke.
We were brought to our "cell" which is what they called each monk's room. Carmen and I shared a large cell, with a big fireplace, an Ar-moire for storing linens, a small writing table, and two beds. The mattresses were stuffed with something strange, crusty which made a crisp rustling sound, like dead leaves, but harder. Carmen laughed at my wonder, and made me try to guess what it was over and over. He finally gave in and explained. These were corn husks, saved after shucking corn, then sun-dried along with the corn silk. The husks and silk were then compressed and sewn between layers of woven linens to form a thick mattress.
The cell had another implement which I had never seen before. It looked like a "pop-corn popper" which one would hold over an open fire--a wide copper pan with a hinged lid, which extended from a long pole.
Carmen laughed again, and explained that this was a bed warmer. At bedtime, hot coals or stones from the fireplace were placed inside the broad pan, closed, and then it was inserted between the blankets and sheets, gliding it back and forth until any dampness was chased away, and the undercovers were left dry and toasty warm just as we got into bed.
I was amazed at this. I had never heard of this before, and to date, I'm not aware of any modern equivalent. Carmen said that the style of these beds and tools had not changed in several hundred years.
As we were drifting off to sleep, I asked Carmen what the monks were saying to me downstairs when some of them had "blessed" me. He explained that the words were prayers in the language of Latin, the language of God. This made me glad. I slept soundly in the comfort of knowing this.
It was still dark when Carmen got me up and dressed for breakfast. Coarse oat meal, goat's milk (there were no cows here) eggs and bread. There was no talking allowed, so I couldn't complain about the blandness of the food. Today would be a day of instruction for me.
Out of respect for the monks who were undergoing their chosen vow of silence, most of the monks didn't speak at all, unless necessary, and then only briefly. I quickly adapted to a sort of "gesturing" communication style, which was very visually-dependent, I learned. This resulted in efficiency, with direct observation of tasks as a learning style. I learned how to milk the goats, and the washing and cleansing protocol before and after. My small hands were much more efficient at handling the small teets of goats than the larger men's hands. I learned quickly, receiving high praise in the form of smiles and nods of acknowledgment from the elders. There were eyes upon me constantly. Supervisory, but caring, in a strong paternal manner. These men respected Carmen quite highly, and quickly expressed a strong caring attentiveness toward me. I felt safe among them.
The milk was used in many ways, primarily for making cheese which was then sold to regional villages. Eggs from chickens and ducks were also sold, which I learned how to collect without getting my hands pecked.
There was not much by way of farming, other than herb gardens and root vegetables like carrots and parsnips and radishes. The better part of greens, mushrooms and nuts were collected from the woodlands. There were expeditions of gathering which took place nearly every day. Pine nuts were plentiful, and were best collected by observing the small tree squirrels. Wherever they congregated would usually indicate a proliferation of ripe nuts inside pine cones. The cones were harvested either by climbing, or by casting stones with rope attached to loop over a branch, then dragging it down, bending the branches and stripping off the pine cones. The dry cones were then crushed and ripped open to extract the pine nuts, which they called pinoli.
One such harvest, specifically for mushrooms, took place in early morning before sunrise. It needed to be, because these mushrooms sprouted overnight, got up to five inches tall with wide caps, but would attract rodents at first light. Once a single bite had been taken by a rodent, the mushroom was ruined, and could not be used. They had to be pristine. They were so nutritious, it was worth the effort and inconvenience.
Carmen woke me very early for the mushroom harvest. The monks each carried oil or candle lanterns, and about eight of us headed out to the known areas where these mushrooms would proliferate--usually near pine trees where there was a light covering of pine needles on top of soft damp soil. They were very delicate, and needed their own perfect conditions to grow.
The harvest was productive, with mostly untouched mushrooms, just has had been hoped for. As they monks were deciding whether to venture further, we all became startled by a dreaded, forboding sound. Wolves. The howling of several different tones, high and low, indicated a large pack. They were close, and within a moment we could hear their footfalls in the wood just past the edges of the clearings we were walking through.
Carmen grabbed me, and in one swift movement planted me on top of his shoulders and commanded "Hold on!"
The other monks formed a circle around Carmen and I, facing outward, reaching out with their lanterns waving them back and forth. Each time we tried edging our way back up the path, we could hear more rustling behind the edge of the path. They were trying to surround us.
One of the monks started blowing a whistle as an alarm, with short, repetitive calls to indicate alarm. By now we could hear growling and and yelping of the pack, racing back and forth behind the pathways, their outlines barely visible in the moonlight and lantern light.
Finally, I saw what I thought was evil... a very large wolf had climbed over a large boulder at the far edge of the clearing, slowly stepped its way down toward the front the boulder and was staring out at us--at me!
When the light hit its eyes, they glowed a bright orange, like fire. Carmen could feel me trembling. As I looked down I saw his eyes, as I had never seen them before. If Carmen was afraid, then I had even more reason to be afraid. I could now see the teeth of the large wolf, as its slack jaw rested open, revealing the white glinting lower fangs. I felt the sound of its low steady growling rumble reverberating off of my body.
The monks had huddled closer, and finally I heard the footfalls of the rest of the monks and servants running up the path, wielding flaming torches. They entered the clearing, and with precision placement, started jabbing the flaming torches into darkness beyond the clearing edge. Others surrounded our original group, waving their torches back and forth. All of them were shouting in that strange "Latin God language" which Carmen had told me about.
Once they had the wolves at bay, we were finally able to carefully move up the pathway toward the compound, and slowly made our way back. We watched as the last of the monks and servants fell backed their way up the path, bringing this incident to a close.
I couldn't stop shaking. The vision of that face, had me convinced I was going to die. This was the beast--a real monster. I had never known fear like this before, and never believed that there was anything in this world which could really hurt me. I now knew differently. There were indeed monsters, and evil in my world.
Carmen explained to me that usually the wolves will stay away from men, as the musky scent of mature men are unappealing and intimidating to wolves, usually. This meant it was probably me. The scent of my youthful, sweet sweat, indicated vulnerability, just as when a deer is traveling with a fawn, its the fawn whose scent represents an easy quarry.
He also explained, that in both folklore, and in many biblical writings, wolves are depicted as representatives of "him" (he pointed downward) meaning Satan. "The crows are with him too" Carmen added. He said that in nature, they communicate with one another, collaborating with each other.
Carmen then noticed I had a sack under my robe. "What's this?" he asked, as he grabbed and pulled it forward. It was a sack full of the mushrooms we had been collecting. He laughed out loud--through all that, I never dropped the sack of mushrooms! "Everyone else dropped theirs!" he smiled, puzzled. "I guess you really like mushrooms!"
Throughout my life, I have never seen wolves again, but I have seen crows and I've made a point of studying them, listening as they communicate with each other, reading about their intelligence and their keen predatory sense. It all made sense that they would collaborate with wolves over food. Crows could let wolves know where prey was, then pick the remains after the wolves devoured the better part of their quarry.
After a late breakfast the chores had to be started. Today would be a quiet, reflective day for all of us. In mid afternoon I was brought to the central chamber where chanting and singing would commence.
This singing was in Latin, again--the language of God. I was beginning to pick up these terms, like Rex Gloriae (King of Heaven, aka God). I liked when I could understand and learn these words. It made me feel like I was part of their group, which I wanted to be. The strong, clear sound of their voices all together were very soothing to me. I felt proud to see Carmen singing along with them, looking toward me and smiling. Was I in Heaven? Were these Angels? It might as well have been, as the miracle of having my life protected and saved by these men was the closest thing to God's miracles I had ever heard of.
The goats were getting quite fat. They had been "sired" months before, with male goats brought in just for that purpose. By impregnating them all at once, the births would happen all at once, controlled.
Surely enough, one rainy morning before milking, we heard the protests of labor pains bellowing out from their barn. When we got there, a couple had already been born and were standing, nursing.
Carmen and others began comforting and reassuring those in distress, usually the younger ones. They were coming quickly. I helped by taking away wet bloody straw and replacing it with new dry clean straw.
Most had finished, except one, who was in bad shape. She was very small, and was carrying very heavy. Carmen had been watching her, and was in a way of knowing she would need the most help. He massaged her, tried repositioning, but it was very difficult. She finally gave birth, but injured herself badly. The baby fell to the straw in a lump, and remained still. The mother didn't have the strength to help it. She bled profusely. It looked like they might both die.
That's when Carmen gathered her in his arms, lifted her up, and prayed, strongly and loudly--again in Latin. I watched his face, and the glint of a tear drop emerging from the corner of his eye. As he continued praying, the tear finally left his cheek, splashing down on the head of this distressed goat. In an instant, she had gone limp. Carmen gently placed her onto the straw, said a final prayer, and began tending to her baby. He was able to coax another mother into cleaning and nursing this one, and he succeeded. By the time we were done, the barn was quiet again, filled with proud mothers each suckling their new offspring.
Carmen explained that he had prayed that God quickly take this goat to stop her suffering. He didn't want to euthanize her, but would have done so if she had continued to flounder that way.
Our evening cleansing rituals would be much needed tonight. We were each a mess with goat blood and after-birth.
When we had first arrived here, I hated the community bathing and cleansing each night. After the first time, they had to chase me to get me involved. It was very thorough, and used hard, horse-hair brushes which hurt at first, but I admit it always felt good when it was done, and followed with fresh, clean soft linen garments. Cleanliness really is next to Godliness, I learned.
The bathing took place in a sub-basement, with a large tile tub which we stepped down into. A large cystern with a wood fire beneath kept hot water flowing. Between bathing, each of the men carefully groomed each other, trimmed hair, spread healing salve on scratches, cuts and insect bites to soothe them.
This is where I became comfortable being around other men, naked. Before this, I was shy, or ashamed, of my naked body, which I learned was needless.
It was also here that I saw Carmen in his full, masculine "glory". I had always known he was physically strong, but seeing him naked, his six-foot-three body confidently walking among the other men, I marveled at his statue-like perfection. His dark Latin skin glistened in the steamy lantern light of the bathing chamber. He had big, thick muscular arms and shoulders. His legs and buttocks were chiseled, defining the strength of his rippled muscular stature. His strong, heavy thighs punctuated his walk, each step causing him to sway back and forth every so slightly. Carmen was one of God's finest specimens of a man, and he was "mine" of sorts. My "uncle", my mentor, my protector, my "big brother", the terms and conditions which I bonded with him seemed endless. I was very proud of him in every way, and I knew he loved me in every possible way.
The chores continued, and I took on more work responsibility with all the baby goats now. Once they got older, the "harvest" of the older mature goats would commence. I didn't like this, but I had learned it was part of the cycle, and was where our food came from. Carmen told me that goat meat was the most common meat throughout the whole world, because they're small, easy to farm-raise, compared to cows and pigs, they grow relatively fast, and they give rich creamy milk.
We had been eating goat meat since we arrived here, on a fairly regular basis. I had thought it was lamb or mutton at first. It was dried or otherwise salt-cured, but soon we would have freshly harvested goat, braised with herbs like a brisket.
Rabbit was another common meat, caught from the woodlands fairly regularly. It was different from rabbit at home--much sweeter and richer tasting.
Time was passing fast. I looked forward to the singing each night after bathing. Carmen pointed out that my body had changed alot. I had gained weight, gotten taller, and was very muscular from all the chores. I had grown up and out of my clothes which I had brought with me. The monks made me several new garments, which I liked a lot. They were roomy and comfortable with very strong seams and deep pockets. These new clothes also made me feel "like a man", grown up.
One night in late summer I became too tired to finish eating. I went to bed voluntarily, before Carmen, which almost never happened. Carmen came up later with a plate of cheese and bread and wine, hoping I would eat more.
By this time, I was hot and wet with fever, and felt nauseated. I was sick--very sick with some kind of infection. Nobody else was ill, which raised concerns further. Through this night and the next day I just kept sweating. Carmen and others kept wiping dry linens over me, absorbing sweat, and would wring them out, dripping wet a minute later. I was rapidly dehydrating.
The elders brought me a special sack of fine mud with herbs, alcohol and other ingredients designed to pull toxins out of my body. Carmen called this a poultice. I remember it stunk like sulfur, probably from the mud. It was spread across my entire torso, so I had no choice but to breathe the fumes.
This went on endlessly, with periodic drinks of some elixers, sweet water and other liquids to combat dehydration. I was losing weight and body fluid very rapidly. Also, the fever stayed steady, and I began having visual and auditory hallucinations. I could see Carmen, whose face had the same fear as the night of the wolves. I could also hear wolves, howling right outside the window. Carmen insisted there were none, and kept talking to me for distraction and support.
He knelt and began praying. They all did. I could hear singing rising up from the central chamber below. They were singing to God, praying for me.
Finally, I began to get cold--very cold. The chills shivered over my body and I was practically convulsing to try to warm myself. They used the bed warmer to heat up fresh blankets and sheets to combat my cold, but had to hold me down, as I began kicking and thrashing at them despite my weakness. They took off the poultice which revealed deep red blotches all over my chest. This was apparently residue of the toxins leaching out through my pores, according to them.
Once dry again, Carmen reached and held my ankles and began praying and chanting loudy in Latin. The others joined him, all repeating the same phrase with desperation:
"In Nominis Rex Gloriae! Amen" "In Nominis Rex Gloriae! Amen" (In The Name of God).
I awoke to sunlight streaming through the window. I called softly for Carmen. I felt him jump to his feet, he had been right there lying next to me on his bed. He rushed to my side, and as he caressed my head with his hand, I told him I was hungry.
He laughed and cried aloud at the same time. This was what he had hoped for. He could feel that my fever was down, and feeling hungry confirmed it. He sobbed, hugging me hard, telling me that I had scared him. Now he was trembling, with relief and with the memory of how "close" I had come.
I told him I had seen him in my dream. He was fighting the wolves for me again.
On this day, each of the elders came to "bless" me again, with Latin prayers and each of them marking my forehead with the symbol of the Cross, just as some had on the day that we arrived. While I remembered this ritual, it felt much more important--had much more significance this time.
The day was filled with questions. What had I eaten? What had I drank? Had I left the compound for any reason? Had I taken water from a different source than usual? Had any animal feces splashed onto my face? They were desperately eager to find a reason for my illness, but just couldn't. It had simply come and gone, like a storm, and since nobody else got any illness whatsoever, there was no need to keep this up.
Down in the central chamber there was a lot of activity. Carmen explained to me that one of the elders had died during the night. I became terribly sad at this--I needed to know who it was. I needed to see, although I was not supposed to. There were rituals of anointment in process. I looked anyway, and watched quietly as his body was being tended to. So graceful and methodical, the monks were wrapping clean linens, his Robe, prayer rope and other adornments to prepare him. Once fully adorned, I recognized this man. He was one of the elders who had been upstairs at my bedside praying for me during my fevers. I couldn't believe he was gone--standing tall and shouting prayers right next to me, just hours before! How could this be?
I was still very weak, although well now. I slowly ate broth and bread, plenty of water and went back to sleep. The servants had replaced my corn-husk mattress with a new one. The old one would be burned.
Before I slept I knelt at my bedside. Carmen joined me almost immediately. As young as I was, I understood that I had grown in the many months since arriving here. I gave thanks. Thanks for the protection of this powerful place. Thanks for the people in it, all being so attentive to me. Thanks for being saved from the wolves. Thanks for my good nutrition and other comforts each day. Thanks for pulling me back from the depths of sickness. And thanks for all the blessings each of them had extended to me.
And thanks for Carmen. None of this would have been possible without him.
The last months of our stay passed quickly and without incident. All the routines and chores blended into one long day, it seemed. By mid October we were packing, slowly and reluctantly. One of the monks, the "tailor" brought up my old pants that I had worn when I arrived. He held them up against me to show how tall and bulky I had become. We all laughed. The difference was incredible. There were new ducks, new chickens, the baby goats were now grown. All things were renewed. It was time to go.
The morning of our departure was solemn with a gray sky. Each of the monks came outside, as well as the servants. One by one, they touched us, blessed us. I thanked them all, tearfully. Carmen translated.
They had packed an incredible amount of food for us. Several breads, an entire round of goat cheese, a roasted chicken from the night before, dried meats, fresh fruit and nuts, several containers of wine--you name it, we had a feast. Our return trip would be well fortified.
In one final gesture, a surprise. The Brothers had planned to make me a ring, but didn't have the smelting tools, nor the silver bits to do it. Instead, they had sneaked off to a faraway village several days prior, and bought me something.
A simple silver Cross. Small but adorned with symbols of faith, created with fine detailed workmanship.
Carmen and I took our return trip home, in almost exact reverse order of each leg of our original journey. We stuffed oureselves, and slept much of the way. We were both much more relaxed than when we had first come, filled with uncertainty, me throwing up from sea-sickness, me being intimidated by strangers.
None of that was present now. I felt older, more confident, and had the experiences of an adult compressed into my child's mind.
Carmen called my parents from the train station in Boston to alert them that we were back. They came to get us right away.
Tearful reunions. Even my Dad crying, picked me up to hug me, and nearly broke his back doing so. "My God Will, look how big and heavy you've gotten!" Dad shouted, as he cringed and rubbed his own lower back.
My mother chimed in with "What are those awful clothes you're wearing?!" "Where are your own clothes?" she demanded.
Carmen had already briefed me about what to censor when talking to them. It was easy, I could just talk about the farm animals, and all the nutritious foods. This would please them. Forget about nearly being killed by wolves, forget about nearly dying from fever. Don't mention the dead body being anointed, and oh, about the community bathing--your Dad might be okay with that, but your Mother probably won't understand it--it might just upset her, so keep it to yourself too.
The first thing I noticed about them, was cosmetics. They smelled so strongly of "chemicals" it made me gasp. Dad's "Old Spice" after shave, Mom's "Final Net" hair shellack--or whatever it was, plus spray deodorants--I could detect and identify each of them. "Right Guard" for him, "Jean Nate" for her. I could even smell her foot power through her shoes! Why was I so sensitive? Probably from being in such natural, wholesome surroundings with nothing but the aromas of food and men--my two favorite things.
Carmen visited at our house for a while. My parents didn't talk about their activity in front of me, of course, so the conversation stayed on us, our visit, and our trip home which they were glad of.
Carmen and I were both exhausted. I wanted him to stay. I wanted to go with him to his house, and I said so! "Oh, someone's gotten attached" my mother coyly crowed. But he had to leave, so I just hugged him, long and hard and tried not to cry. He knelt down and reassured me one last time and said he would see me soon.
I was already a month and a half late for starting school, plus now that I had grown, they had to buy me new clothes--another delay.
I finally enrolled, went to my first day, and got dragged to the Principal's office for fighting, and for telling my teacher that she "smelled wrong". Again with the cosmetics! Would I ever adjust? I didn't want to adjust. I wanted Carmen. I wanted my "life" back. The life I had come to know and love. I was realizing that I had hardly missed my parents at all, and I think they could begin to see this.
In the days that followed, they commented on how quiet I was. This became a concern. They called Carmen, asking what had happened that I was so changed? They said I was estranged and distant. They turned accusatory toward Carmen, asking "What have you done to my (our) son?"
It occurred to me that if they got mad at Carmen, they might not let me see him as much--or at all! I quickly found a way to fake interest in being home, and I did. I kept quiet in school, made some "friends", did my chores, etc.
Finally, Carmen invited me fishing on his boat on Saturday, and I went. This was the last thing we had done together before leaving for Spain. I couldn't care less about fishing, I just wanted to be near him. It had been less than two weeks since returning, and I told him how much I missed him.
I asked him to tell me why we had gone. What had happened that made him take me away in the first place. He wanted me to ask my parents, but I told him I already had and that they won't say, they just get mad when I keep asking.
He finally did explain some of it, in a very mild way so as not to frighten me, or make them look bad.
He also explained that he would be moving soon. He was moving into Boston, to stay with the Aunts Maggie and Bea. These were a lesbian couple. They had a "Boston Marriage" as it was called. Maggie was my Aunt, Bea was her partner.
Carmen assured me that he would still see me, that I could visit him, and that this was just something he had to do. He had to "venture out", as he called it.
This would be one of the last times Carmen and I would spend alone together. He was leaving, which he did. He sold his cottage, stayed with the Aunts for a while, and moved to New York City. Over the next couple of years, we saw him at family gatherings and around Christmas. On 4th of July, 1967, he came to Boston to see our fireworks, and was staying with the Aunts again. I went in to visit with him, and was stunned, as he had a "friend" with him. A man his own age, and just as handsome.
I was jealous! Insanely so. I was not rude to Joshua (the friend) but I did get between them, hugging and hanging on Carmen as much as I was able. I could see that Joshua was quite taken with my affection for Carmen, and he questioned it.
Carmen had already explained to Joshua about our trip to Spain, and all that had happened there, so he had a pretty good idea of the closeness we established.
Someone else had noticed Carmen's friend. My parents. They were not liking it either. I could tell by their faces they were uncomfortable with this "friend" of his. It got confirmed on the ride home in the car with whispered comments that they didn't think I was picking up on. "Maggie and Bea are one thing, they're women and they're older. But Carmen? I thought he would become a priest".
It was clear they were now identifying Carmen as a homosexual, which was not okay, because they felt betrayed. They trusted him with taking care of me, and now felt like they had been deceived, and that something may have happened between Carmen and I. "That would explain his strange behavior when he got back!" My mother said, with an "ah ha!" tone.
My father just remained quiet. This didn't get spoken of much any more, but I didn't hear from Carmen anymore either, except through the Aunts when possible.
We ended up moving, to Reading, Massachusetts. My parents separated on and off over the years. By the time I was fifteen, I got a good job at night at a trucking company in their office. I kept going to school and working at night, so I moved out and into an apartment with older friends just as I turned seventeen. At eighteen I finally got my own studio apartment for cheap rent.
I had to try to find Carmen somehow. It had been too long. I got his New York address and phone through Bea. (Maggie had passed away a few years earlier).
Bea told me that the last she heard, Carmen had a "friend" named Michael.
Oddly enough I didn't feel any jealousy this time at hearing of Carmen's friend. After all, he was in his late thirties. Why shouldn't he have someone?
I finally got up the courage and excitement to call. A strong-voiced man answered. "Hello, I'm looking for Carmen?" I asked, shyly. The man responded with, "Look, stop calling here! He's not interested!" Don't call again!" (slam)
Interesting, I thought. One phone call and I'm already a home-wrecker. I tried again. This time I spoke quickly: "Please don't hang up--I'm Will, Carmen's nephew from Boston!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" "I'm Mike, I've heard a lot about you, Will"
My heart jumped when he said that. I'm still on his mind! He talks about me!
I told Michael that I wanted to talk with Carmen, and possibly come down to the city to visit--that it had been over ten years since I had seen Carmen.
When Carmen finally called me back that night he sounded surprised and amazed to be hearing from me. His voice was exactly the same as it had been so many years earlier. He told me worked two jobs: One as a Counselor or Therapist of some kind, another volunteer job at a homeless shelter or soup kitchen. He and Michael lived in Queens, at Jackson Heights. Right away, he invited me to visit, so I did.
I was going to fly down, but from either JFK or Laguardia it was more problematic to get out to Jackson Heights compared to the subway, so instead I took the train into Penn Station, then the Subway out to Jackson Heights. They met me right outside the subway station.
Carmen looked the same, except for a couple of shocks of gray streaking through his jet black hair. He was hot, his partner Michael was very hot. They were the same age, 38. This was 1978.
After dinner and catching up, they took me out to "show me off" to their friends. Since I was a new face, not even eighteen yet, they were both protective, not letting me out of their sight.
After "corrupting" me with Jackson Heights' gay underbelly, we did more catching up. This is when Carmen told me everything about my parents and their political activity which had begun in the late 1950s before I was born. He walked me through their involvement with the MLK movement, the JFK affiliation, and all the conflict and reasoning which had led up to him taking me to Spain in November, 1964. All the things my parents had never bothered to tell me were now clear. I could barely imagine them in these roles. It seemed so unlike them. I wondered how they could have been involved with such things without some indication to me over all these years?
Since I did not speak to them much anymore, it really didn't matter. What mattered was that I had found Carmen. His core spirit had not changed--it was still the "Carmen" I had known as a child, happy and loving. He was older, wiser, seemed more settled, and had a soul mate with common interests. Michael had apparently been a "Seminarian" in Massachusetts many years prior, but had dropped out. He said he found it to be too high-handed, authoritarian, and that some of the elders were "abusive". I had a feeling he meant sexual abuse, but sensing his discomfort, I didn't pursue the issue.
On Sunday morning of this long-weekend visit, we decided to go into Manhattan along with a few other of their friends, for a big brunch at a popular restaurant. There were eight of us. I was very pleased to meet these other men. A circle of friends which seemed very complimentary of Carmen's character. It also gave me an associated memory of the long-ago meals shared in the exclusive company of men at the Monastery, except these men were very vocal, happily boisterous, laughing and joking constantly. A whole different social dynamic which I had never imagined Carmen being part of.
"Brunch" was a drastic understatement. This was a veritable Feast, with not only the traditional Roast Beef, Ham, Eggs and Omelets to order, but also Prime Rib, and other high-quality steaks, plus many ethnically prepared dishes, one of which, to my surprise, was Curried Braised Goat.
I pointed this out to Carmen, telling him that I had never had goat again since leaving the Monastery. He hadn't either. Not because he didn't like it, but because he was doubtful of the quality he would get here, compared to farm-fresh goat, prepared with freshly and naturally harvested herbs and vegetables. Despite his reservations, I ordered it anyway. While we had never had any "curry" at the Monastery, the flavor of the meat came through strongly. It was just what I had expected, both in flavor and in nostalgic reference.
After Brunch, someone suggested we go for coffee and dessert at "the hotel". I forget the name of the hotel, but it had a restaurant with tables at large front facing windows. We commandeered those tables so that we could people-watch. This was apparently a regular hangout for some of these guys. They leered at hot men, and dissed woman's fashion as they passed by the window while sipping our coffee and gorging ourselves on pastries.
Monday morning. My wonderful weekend with these guys had to come to a close. As I was packing up, I sensed Carmen behind me, watching and hovering. he looked melancholy, with a slight, wan smile and sheepish eyes. We both reached out and aggressively hugged each other, long and hard. He whispered to me how much he had missed me throughout the many years, and how proud he was to see me grown and living independently at such a young age.
I told him that it was him I had to thank for that. For growing and maturing "beyond my years" so quickly. I told him that he was the only one that had shown me Manhood, more than anyone else ever had, not even my father.
Both Michael and Carmen walked me to the subway station just two blocks from their house. They paid to come in, and down to the platform to wait with me. Again, so protective. Here I was about to trek hundreds of miles to Boston, but they were fearful of letting me stand alone on a New York Subway platform for five minutes!
The train arrived, its doors opened and I stepped in. As I turned around to say goodbye, Carmen leaned in and said "Procedamus en Pace!"
As the doors began to close I quickly replied "You 'Go in Peace' too!"
I could see him laughing and giving me the thumbs-up. Apparently he was surprised that still remembered the Latin he had taught me.
We stayed in relatively close touch from that point forward. Many calls, greeting cards, letters, etc., each inquiring and inviting me to visit again. They told me that two of the friends who had accompanied us to Brunch were both VERY interested in me, and each of them asked Carmen about me all the time. I was warned that one of them was "heavily into bondage", but the other one was okay--just in case I was wondering. I was not.
In October of 1979 Pope John Paul II came to Boston. Carmen and Michael had booked a suite at the Four Seasons Hotel in Boston, so I hooked up with them again, and we went to see the Pope together.
It was way over-crowded, with crowds screaming out of control. There had been so much publicity and excitement built up surrounding his arrival, that there were problems with crowd control.
After the Pope spoke to the crowd, we got out quickly, and I took them to dinner at Legal Seafood, a popular high quality restaurant in Park Square, near their hotel.
During their stay, I decided to take them to Brunch, just as we had done in New York. We went to the Ritz Carlton, just a short walk from their hotel. The Ritz put out a fine Brunch, not the same as we had enjoyed in Manhattan, just different. More Seafood and less ethnic diversity.
During Brunch Carmen had the idea that we look up Bea. Maggie and Bea had lived just around the corner on Commonwealth Ave., and Maggie had passed away a few years prior. Her number had been disconnected, so that was that for now. Carmen said he would make more calls from home to try to find out where she was. We said our goodbyes that night, as their flight was early the next morning.
I didn't know it at the time, but this would be the last time I would ever see Carmen.
With only off-and-on phone calls, cards and letters, the distances between communications grew wider over the next couple of years. Then, in spring of 1982 I got a dreaded call from Michael.
Carmen had died. He had gotten sick with a pneumonia and was treated and released by a local hospital in Queens. But just two days after that, his condition worsened and Michael took him into Manhattan to a bigger, better hospital.
Since he could barely breathe from the worsening pneumonia, they had to intubate him. Some kind of complication occurred during intubation, which caused a cardio-pulmonary problem, stopping his heart. Despite "heroic" efforts, they could not revive him.
Although there was reluctance to say it, this seemed to be another example of the GRID (Gay Related Immune Disease) or Gay-Plague which we had been hearing about for the past year or so. "AIDS" had not been named yet. "HIV" had not been discovered yet. Although he didn't have many other symptoms besides pneumonia, Michael said that Carmen reported being very tired and having odd headaches for almost a month before getting sick.
Michael had him cremated. I went down to attend a memorial service with Michael and the friends I had met back in '78. I stayed with Michael, as did a couple of other friends, for a couple of days trying to console him, but I was devastated myself, with grief, fear and emptiness gripping me.
There was no way for me to foresee what this fully represented. Not only was the most important person in my life now gone, but his illness represented the beginning of a new era.
Carmen was the very first. The first of what would become fifty three people who I would know, love, and care for as they would each enter their journey with HIV and AIDS. This was just "step one" of the long road my life was about to take, some of which is outlined in this Blog's profile.
I think I understand now, why my mind had hidden away the childhood I had experienced with Carmen. Was it self-preservation? If I didn't acknowledge him, maybe I could realize the fantasy that he was still out there somewhere? Maybe having been pulled away from him so young was so hurtful, then losing him so hurtful again, that I was just trying to mitigate the impact of the memories? I don't know. I'm sure that my need to express and share this long story was the "beast" stirring inside me, trying to get out.
Although I don't really feel a sense of release for having told this, I'm hoping it will come in time.
Carmen was the man. The only man that mattered. He had literally poured the foundation that my life walks upon, built me up from child to man, protected me from beastly wolves, saved me from a deadly illness, wrapped himself around me like a warm blanket on nights when I was cold and afraid, and showed me the power of God--calling upon it--actually invoking that power, I believe.
I wish that I could have been for him, even a fraction of what he had been for me.
To those who have read this, thank you very much for witnessing my miracles.
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