(What follows is a rare, positive Covid situation. Proof that good things can happen in the midst of chaos and uncertainty.)

I’ve been a school librarian for so long that I can count on one hand how many more years I have to go to reach the retirement eligible magic number of 30. While I’m definitely anticipating that milestone, I know I will miss my job when it’s time for me to turn the page on this chapter of my life, especially these last couple of years. 

My position has changed in the past two years more than I ever would have imagined, and I’ve worked harder than ever before. Last year, I taught a course to 300+ students, meeting them weekly, often simultaneously delivering instruction in person and remotely. The class that I taught did not actually exist and there was no curriculum.

I created it as I went along.

Once I got my feet under me, I was absolutely inspired and crushed it. Combining literature, history, digital reference sources and pop culture, my goal for the class was to offer context to children who were living through frightening and uncertain times.

One of the classes I presented to my students was about the first pandemic I had experienced – the AIDS crisis. The lesson coincided with World AIDS Day, December 1st, a day I will never fail to honor. 

I repeated the lesson, with modifications and updates, earlier this month. The class included some statistics, comparisons between AIDS and Covid and the initial government (non)response to both, an introduction to some of those lost (Ryan White, Elizabeth Glaser, Arthur Ashe) and the AIDS Memorial Quilt. The class ended with concert footage of Freddie Mercury performing at Wembley Arena.

The presentation consistently goes over really well with the kids who are interested and engaged. I try to convey optimism to my students, to show them that a virus that was once a death sentence is now able to be managed because of science and research and medicine. I share with them my philosophy that disease and death are scary and sad, but that when we remember those who have been lost, we honor them and they’re never really gone.

Earlier this month, I personally experienced confirmation of this very perspective.

I’m not certain, but I think my fatigue with this current pandemic, coupled with my teaching, has prompted me to reexamine my memories of working in NYC during the AIDS crisis. I’ve been thinking a lot about the patients who received care from the physicians in the medical practice in which I was employed as a receptionist in the early 90s.

There were so many sick and dying people that visited our offices, with increasing frequency as their illnesses became more advanced, that it was, at times, overwhelming. While there were, sadly, too many to remember, there are some whom I will never forget. Including Ed.

Ed and I had bonded when we realized we both were from Albany, I from NY and he from Georgia. He worked in the fashion industry and had a wonderful sense of humor, with his irreverent jokes told in the sweetest southern drawl. He was unforgettable.

I’ve been following an Instagram page @theAidsMemorial for a couple of months. The posts never fail to move me and I have such appreciation and compassion for the lovers, friends and family who share the stories of those they have lost. I’ve wondered if there might one day be a post for someone lost to AIDS that I might have known. On December 19th, it finally happened.

The post and images were shared by a woman who was missing her friend, lost to the world on December 19, 1993. Her friend’s name was Ed and they had met when he worked for Halston. I recognized that face. She mentioned he was from Albany, GA.

I made a comment on the post, asking if Ed had also worked for Moschino. Yes, she responded, he had.

It was “my” Ed.

I sent Ed’s friend a direct message, telling her how special he was and sharing that I had never forgotten him. I told her that because of Ed, I’m inspired to talk about AIDS, to teach about that terrible time when our government failed us and our world lost an entire generation of beautiful, talented people.

I’ll forever be sad about the losses our world has suffered because of AIDS, because of Covid. But, when a woman I’ve never met and I can connect to share memories of a man who departed the earth nearly three decades ago, yet left a lasting impression on both of us, I am comforted.

My only wish is that more humans would be prompted to come together during times that challenge, to remember those we have lost, and to commit to doing better. I’d rather not experience a third pandemic.