Snippets from the Trenches: A Mother’S Aids Memoir

By Freda Wagman

The AIDS crisis is far from over, but advances in medical care have lifted the death sentence the disease once held. This wouldnt have been possible had it not been for those who died in the wake of the epidemic and for people like author Freda Wagman who gave her all to help others, while at the same time coming to grips with her own impending loss.

In Snippets from the Trenches, Wagmana mother of a son diagnosed with AIDSshares her journey in the trenches during the darkest hours of the AIDS epidemic in Houston, Texas. She made the ultimate sacrifice in losing her only child to the disease. But in an effort to understand her sons illness and since 1,500 miles separated them, she embarked on a path of selfless service to help others who were often shunned by their own families.

Beginning with a history of the evolution of AIDS, Snippets from the Trenches then tells a personal story of some of the people who suffered from and were lost to AIDS, as well as the angels who were there for them in their time of need. At its central, most painful layer, Wagmans story is about the loss of Gary, her son, whose diagnosis was the catalyst for her involvement with the AIDS community. Despite her years of volunteering, nothing prepares her for the loss of her son to the same disease she has watched take so many others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Jan 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9781489708328

Freda Wagman

Snippets from the Trenches, a mother’s AIDS memoir, is a time-line of the twelve-year journey of the author’s son living with HIV/AIDS in San Francisco. It tells of her involvement as a hands-on volunteer with AIDS Foundation Houston, helping other people, along with the hope of learning how to deal with her own impending loss. The book chronicles Wagman’s personal growth while monitoring her only child’s health and that of numerous people whom she had grown to love. Even her fellow volunteers were succumbing to the illness, which magnified her sorrow to even greater levels. A sad afterthought was the realization that they, as gay men, were also vulnerable. Freda Wagman now lives near Houston, Texas, where she had moved with her son in order for him to attend the high school which was most suited for his educational benefit as an outstanding academic student. She attended an AIDS support group for many years, but has recently decided to spend her retirement time helping people with other needs.

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Copyright © 2007, 2017 Freda Wagman.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4897-0833-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-0834-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-0832-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016908542

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 1/9/2017

CONTENTS

NOTE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

THE ORIGIN

FOREWORD

CHAPTER:

1. Before and After

2. Getting Started

3. In the Beginning

4. Basic Training

5. Regrouping

6. Backing Up a Little

7. Arthur

8. Bob

9. Fred

10. Fund-raising

11. Moving the Goalposts

12. Danny

13. Moving through 1984

14. A New Year – A New Beginning

15. Time Passes Too Quickly

16. Tim

17. Rick

18. Brief Encounters

19. Tony

20. Novelette

21. Same Day – Different Mission

22. Bill

23. Finding Serenity

24. Jan

25. Jim

26. The Third Michael

27. Harry

28. Michael 4 and Michael 5 – A Couple

29. Time with Gary

30. Back to Steve

31. Another Fred – Another Tim

32. Intermission

33. Third Gary Loss

34. Club Med

35. Ken

36. Brad

37. Down Memory Lane

38. Hawaii

39. Yellowstone

40. Back to Tim in ‘92

41. Grace

42. Camping Out

43. The Pinnacles

44. England

45. Beginning of the End

46. No Red Roses

Ram’s Wedding, A Poem By T. Thorn Coyle

AFTERWORD

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Amazon customer

Snippets from the Trenches has several layers. First, it retells the history of the beginning of the AIDS epidemic in the fourth largest city in the U.S. The author recounts the fear experienced by nearly everyone, the staggering inaction of the government, and the grim determination of those volunteers who mobilized to make a difference in any way possible.

Then it tells a personal story of the people who suffered from and were lost to AIDS, as well as the angels who were there for them in their time of need. Wagman tells of the experiences she and her fellow volunteers shared as they worked tirelessly to assist those stricken—only to watch helplessly as one after another succumbed to it. As time passes, many of her friends and fellow volunteers go from being the we that are doing the helping, to the them—those who are infected and need the help. At one point in the book, Wagman pulls out a photo of herself and her friends taken on her birthday several years before. In one heartbreaking moment, she realizes that everyone in the photo other than herself has passed away.

At its central, most painful layer, Wagman’s story is about the loss of Gary, her son, whose diagnosis was the catalyst for her involvement with the AIDS community. Despite her years of volunteering, nothing prepares her for the loss of her son to the same disease she has watched take so many others.

This book is a must-read for the GLBT community and anyone who has been affected by AIDS in any capacity. It is a testament to one woman’s bravery and caring in the face of tragedy; it is a call to action, and is a reminder of what we stand to lose from this disease—not people who are faceless numbers and statistics, but people who are members of our communities, people who are our close friends, our families… our sons and daughters.

Snippets of Humanity - a reader in India

Being a mother myself, my heart broke at the end of the book, but was in the process of breaking from the beginning - knowing what the inevitable outcome would be. That said, I still found it so very uplifting, considering how this book shows the only way possible to deal with such a tragedy The many, many stories, given in snapshots throughout the book - remind us that there is no such thing as a personal and private story, but that we all share in the human condition. Ms. Wagman gives us enough background to understand what the conditions were, enough personal insight to feel what she was going through, and enough other viewpoints to realize how universal her story is - all within one book that is knit together so well that it feels like a series of letters from a close friend.

The Most Touching Book You Will Read All Year - Arkansas

As I read this book, I could not help but notice how humble this woman was, and how very much she adored her son. So much so, that she became immersed in a community that during the early 1980’s and throughout the 1990’s was hit hard with tragic losses. This lady gave the ultimate sacrifice, even at the expense of her own well being. Her love and devotion to her son, and to the community of which he was a part, should be a beacon for anyone who struggles with what it means to serve others.

Therapist from Houston

A compelling piece reminding us of both the tragedies and triumphs of a desperate period in the life of the gay community. The author’s vivid account brings to life the highly personal experience of those who so bravely rose to the crushing needs in a time of fear, panic, and cruelty. It was a time when the only hope for thousands rested in the hands of a few kind and loving people who were brave and compassionate enough to care for desperate people abandoned by all others.

Ms. Wagman tells this heart wrenching story in a way so compelling as to make it difficult to put the book down. Her writing is colored by the love and angst of a mother soon to lose her beloved son; a mother whose only refuge from personal pain was to care for others in great need. Reading ‘Snippets’ awakened poignant memories of the reality of that time and of the volunteers who gave so much.

Bea from Michigan

What a wonderful and empathetic soul the author is and so giving to others in desperate need of love and care. The account of the saddening travails of her own son, Gary, brought me to tears. Perhaps only a mother can feel and understand what those people were (and are) going through and what looms in their future. An important true story.

Peter - San Francisco

‘Snippets’ is a story of a mother who has to come to terms not only with her son’s illness but her fierce protection of his feelings. Beautifully written, you learn how fragile and random life can be.

The strength that grows when you open your heart and mind helps us heal from losses life deals all of us. Revealed is a generous soul who has her only child taken from her and can only deal with it by giving back to others around her.

A magazine journalist in Houston

‘Snippets’ is a wonderfully written book about the history of AIDS in Houston, and the triumph of a mother’s love. Freda Wagman tells the story of the loss of her own son, while recounting the people she worked with as an AIDS volunteer. It’s warm, human and informative. I couldn’t put this book down - the pages just seemed to float by. Don’t miss reading this one!

Lori - California

Ms. Wagman has so eloquently told of the early years of HIV/AIDS, and when learning of her own son’s diagnosis, reaching out to help others as a way to deal with her own grief to come. I believe she has touched on so many levels; helping the reader by bringing them into her own world as she saw it. I could not put the book down. Thank you to Ms. Wagman, in addition to sincere sympathies. You have helped more than you know.

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If I should die and leave you here a while

Be not like others, sore, undone, who keep

Long vigil by the silent dust and weep.

For my sake, turn again to life and smile.

Unnerving heart and trembling hand to do

That which will comfort other souls than thine.

Complete these dear unfinished tasks of mine

And I, perchance, may therein comfort you.

Mary Lee Hall

NOTE

F or those who would ask why I didn’t elaborate about the people I’ve written about, I would like to say that in trying to maintain the accuracy of the material, I have had to rely on whatever information is and was available. There were many people who appeared briefly in the seemingly never-ending procession during my tenure, whom I was able to help (or perhaps not) and move on to the next, or who died before there was more information to add to what I already had.

Hence, the title, Snippets.

It has been a long time since these events took place and there may be errors or inaccuracies, for which I offer my sincere apologies.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

M any people made this book possible, but very few are still here for me to thank.

For their willingness to allow me to include the experiences I shared with their loved ones, I am deeply grateful to Truman Dunahoo, Margaret and Bill Laderach, Jennifer and her mother (last names withheld at their request), and Tim’s mother, who also asked that her name not be given, but told me she is proud to be included.

To Stephen Hill, producer and announcer of the National Public Radio program Hearts of Space, for adding a great measure of purpose to my work with people living and dying with AIDS. Stephen also introduced me to the work of composer Constance Demby, who has graciously permitted me to quote from a letter she received from a physician regarding the powerful impact of her music on dying patients.

For allowing me to mention their visible presence and involvement in the candlelight march in 1983, I am grateful to The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence in San Francisco.

Some of the colorful details were provided by John Paul Barnich, an attorney who was one of the early AIDS Foundation Houston volunteers. When the first edition of ‘Snippets’ was published, he was serving as a judge in the City of Houston. He has since passed away.

Sue Lovell, a Houston City Council Member, was instrumental in the initial formation of AIDS Foundation Houston and shared with me her knowledge of the earliest days of the organization, which I was able to piece together with other fragments of information I had about the structure of the foundation. Her initial interest began when her younger brother, Bobby, became ill and friends of his asked her to become involved. The basic preparation by Ms. Lovell and a small group of concerned therapists and physicians, motivated by a single individual whose unusual illness was brought to their attention, enabled the earliest volunteers to join the fledgling group. Chapter 3 in this book is taken from my interview with Ms. Lovell, and I am deeply grateful to her for granting me permission to tell her part of the story.

A very important person in Gary’s life was Thorn Coyle, whom Gary knew through his Sufi studies and turning practice. Gary was known in his Sufi group as Ram. Ms. Coyle has permitted me to close this book with a poem she wrote for him on the night he died. She is a musician, dancer, poet, and activist. To find out more about her teachings, her website is www.thorncoyle.com.

My manuscript readers – Susan Choi and Truman Dunahoo – have my heartfelt appreciation. Susan Choi‘s professional critique enabled me to bring the bud of my story to full bloom. Truman died a few years ago.

I was unable to locate family members or friends of some of the individuals whose stories are included in this book in order to request permission to write about their loved ones. By telling their stories, my intention is to memorialize those loved ones, and to express my gratitude for having been allowed to be a part of their lives.

The encouragement to tell my story came from many sources: my family, friends, and members of the Bering Spiritual Support Group in Houston, Texas.

To all of you, thank you so much.

THE ORIGIN

I n 1981, the illness was called GRID, for Gay-Related Immune Deficiency. As the virus claimed one life after another, and realizing that it was affecting not only gay men, the name AIDS was designated, the acronym for Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome.

In 1983, Dr. Luc Montagnier, a French researcher at the Pasteur Institute in Paris, isolated the lymphadenopathy-associated virus, known as LAV. At the same time, Dr. Robert Gallo was working at the National Cancer Institute in New York, and in 1984 isolated what he called the HTLV-III, or the human T-Cell lymphatropic virus.

The Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA), in 1986, determined that LAV and HTLV-III were the same virus and they were given the designation of HIV, or Human Immunodeficiency Virus.

The origin was irrelevant—people were sick and dying, and desperately needed help.

FOREWORD

M y son, Gary, died twenty-one years ago. He had been diagnosed in 1983 with a strange illness from a then unknown cause. Shortly after his death, I was asked to speak to a gay student group at Rice University about how my life had been changed by AIDS, and was told that my remarks should not be too depressing. My first reaction was to ask, How can you talk about AIDS and be cheerful? At the time, Gary had been gone only six months. If there is anything about the experience to be grateful for, it is that I was alone with him when he died. I was with him when he came into the world, and I wanted to be with him when he left it.

I had just met Jon, a new young friend, to whom I expressed my dilemma about the assigned topic. He replied, That’s how to start your presentation. That it is difficult to not be sad. But tell them how good your life has been in the last few months. Of course, he was taking some of the credit for my newfound attitude, and I must admit that he provided many opportunities to be cheerful. His presence in my life helped me find the balance and strength I needed to attend funerals, memorial services, candlelight vigils and marches, or sometimes just a peaceful bedside visit. So I told the audience that during my twelve-year involvement with people with AIDS through AIDS Foundation Houston, the AIDS support group of which I was a member, and the individuals who came into—and went out of—my life, my grief was immense and nearly overwhelming; but my life was better for having been a participant in the trenches and in the quiet background.

For most of my life, up to 1983, I had searched for a cause; a means of contributing to the betterment of society, or even a small part of it which needed help. I served on committees and walked in the March of Dimes, and spent countless hours as a VA hospital volunteer, but I didn’t have the urgency of involvement that motivates those who have personal reasons for springing into action.

In 1983, my action became a compulsion and I jumped into the fray. I say the fray because that is what it was at the time. The participants included the government, homophobes, the medical establishment, the media, employers, landlords, and even many funeral homes, which would not handle the bodies of those infected with the deadly virus. It was not unusual for some people diagnosed with AIDS to be disowned by their family. One young man’s father received a call from a volunteer attorney who informed him of his son’s death. When asked what he wanted his son’s caregivers to do with the body, his reply was, Put it in a garbage bag and put it out by the curb.

Even though I was devastated by what was happening—history in the making—I thought I was giving of myself. And the most wonderful thing happened to me. I was getting what I felt I had been missing for so much of my life: appreciation, attention, recognition, social activity, and above all, love!

My greatest reward came from the pride my son had for what I was doing. He shared it with his friends and doctors. He asked me to help the mothers of his dying friends in San Francisco. During one of my visits with him, I met a grieving mother who had come from across the country to tearfully wait a week or so, until she could take her only child, Allen, back to Tennessee—in cargo hold, as she put it. Together, Gary and I tried to comfort her. The next day, Allen died and was on his way to eternity, via Memphis.

My original motive had been to prepare myself for the possibility of my son dying before I did. It was awkward, though, to talk to him about treatments that I had heard of, in order to see if he could try them, because he was determined to live his life without having it controlled by this new interloper. I wanted to inform him of the deaths of another, and yet another, of my own assigned charges, but I realized that wasn’t going to help him at all. There were some things I just couldn’t share with him. For example, when the second person I helped died two months after I had met him, I called Gary. He could tell by my voice that my new friend was gone. I knew right then that I was not going to keep him apprised of the setbacks or losses I was dealing with, because it pulled him down. He was bent on maintaining his positive attitude, and I had to learn to be selective about the information I passed along to him. I knew he was deeply concerned for me and his empathy was sincere, but my realization that I was telling him what might lie ahead on his own journey clarified for me that sharing such information was sorely inappropriate.

As time went on, the researchers continued to extend their estimate of the time it would take for answers, treatment, or maybe even a cure, always in five-year increments. Yet, the people suffering from the toll the illness took on their lives never complained.

My son, in his short life, continually sought spiritual fulfillment. He joined various groups in search of truth and enlightenment. Becoming a Rosicrucian fulfilled that need for him until he began to study with the Sufi Order in San Francisco.

This last avenue, where he claimed to have reached that enlightenment, was begun by Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi. After Rumi’s death, his followers founded the Mevlevi Order, also known as the Whirling Dervishes, who created the sema, their sacred turning dance ceremony. Before beginning, they ask permission to begin turning by kissing the sheikh’s hand, and the dervish’s sikke (a tall fez hat which must be earned at a particular stage of Sufi learning) is kissed by the sheikh in affirmation. Rumi wrote thousands of poems about love. One Sufi verse says, When the heart weeps for what it’s lost, the soul rejoices for what it’s found. The answer to the original question of how my life has been changed by AIDS is, my soul is rejoicing!

For Gary

1.

Before and After

T he snow at Crater Lake was fourteen feet deep, or did the ranger say forty-eight feet, that December day in 1982? He said we were standing that high above a dozen picnic tables, buried in a record snowfall for the area. If we hadn’t had snowshoes, we might have walked right over the edge of the crater. The snow had built up to about ten feet