Close to Home: Remembering lives cut short by AIDS

During a civil rights trip to the South, members of Congregation Shomrei Torah visited the NAMES Project in Atlanta. The project started in 1987 to memorialize those who died in the AIDS pandemic and to bring awareness to the devastating impact of the disease. Before us stood the impassioned, articulate director, who spoke of AIDS history and angry politics, of human beings pushed aside, not given the immediate medical attention that was warranted or deserved.

She led us down a narrow hallway lined with sewing machines used by volunteers to stitch and secure grommets around each panel that has been sent to them for the AIDS Memorial Quilt. To date, this comprises 54 tons of fabric.

Bright posters encourage AIDS testing, and rows of industrial racks, 8-feet tall, hold quilt upon folded quilt. As we continued walking, there were more racks and more quilts, and, suddenly, the numbers became gripping, real and staggering. It was endless.

This was personal. I will never forget the day in 1987 when I sat on the kitchen floor holding the phone in the crook of my neck and cradling my 2-month-old first son in my left arm. I sobbed as I heard my only sibling say: “I am HIV positive.” We already presumed Perry was gay. He officially came out to me as we danced together at my wedding - a special moment for both of us and not at all an intrusion on the day. Six years later, in 1994, he died.

We left Atlanta pained and heartbroken for those we knew and the millions we didn’t.

The dedication of the volunteers who sew and catalogue the quilts is nothing short of heartbreaking, loving care. That their coffers are regularly in need of funds is a daily concern. The quilts are but one aspect of their mission. Their outreach to educate how to avoid contracting AIDS is as critical as preserving the quilts. The size of each panel was deliberately chosen to resemble a 3-foot by 6-foot coffin, and this is juxtaposed with the softness and warmth of fabric; lives lost, yet warmly, lovingly remembered.

The lucky ones had both family and friends to walk this journey with them, but many had only their friends. Perry’s partner, Gary, was one of those whose family chose to mourn him years before he actually died.

Several on this trip have been touched by personal loss from AIDS. It is with this sense of shared community we feel compelled to bring several quilt panels to Sonoma County so others may have the opportunity to remember and reflect. The last time Sonoma County hosted the AIDS quilt was 1994. Two new quilts for sons of congregants are being made for inclusion in the project; one for Peter Jordan Smith and one for my brother, Perry Mark Rubinstein.

It is important to know that HIV/AIDS is still here. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimate that 1.2 million people in the U.S. are living with HIV, and nearly one in seven of those aren’t aware that they are infected. In Sonoma County, the most recent numbers indicate that women and men, adults and adolescents across all ethnic and economic groups are affected.

Shomrei Torah is hosting the AIDS Memorial Quilt display on Sunday, from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. with 72 actual quilts and 168 projected photos. A documentary film, “The Last One,” about the origin of the quilts will be shown all day. Sonoma County AIDS organizations and other local health groups will be on hand. Admission is free.

Linda Bornstein is a member of Congregation Shomrei Torah in Santa Rosa.