In early 1992, after 25+ years of marriage, my father announced he was not only gay, but HIV-positive. Words cannot adequately express the devastation my family went through. Sorrow, despair, anger, guilt... you name it, we grappled with it, but through it all, we loved one another regardless.

At that time, the stigma associated with AIDS still existed and to be "the wife of..." or "the daughter of..." or "the son of..." was such a rarity that we often felt completely alone. Thus, we are extremely grateful to those who stood by us and offered us their support. Their kindness will never be forgotten.

During my father's last hospital stay, it was my mother that he asked for. To come and sit. To be there with him. To hold his hand. And, of course, she went. And sat. And held his hand. It spoke to a love and a bond that was immeasurable.

After my father's death, his friends and family gathered in the park. Each released a balloon while recounting how my father had touched their lives. Though he may be gone, he is still with us... in our hearts, our memories, and through our deeds and actions, my father lives on.

Our story was one of love and courage - not only my father's, but my mother's as well. Life is often not as simple, as black and white, as we might wish it, though so much might be missed if it were. I only wish that my father might have been able to experience happiness in his choice of a "new" life without becoming ill.

From my father's last words to me, "You have the capacity and the ability to do or to be anything you want in life, but always be true to yourself. Experience life and all the wonders that it holds. Laugh, love, and be yourself. You are enough."