I needed to know where he was. She told me, and I took the first plane. I arrived at the hospital. Only his mother was there. Not even his last Swiss lover was by his side, nor his children, nor his family, not even his ex-wife. Neither was his sister.
Only his mother accompanied him, not knowing if she was aware of his homosexuality or not. She was a sweet older Southern woman, distinguished, elegantly dressed, a woman of means who remained strong because her son was dying. She was one of hundreds of thousands of mothers who wouldn’t be intimidated by an epidemic to abandon the children they brought into the world.
I hugged her and looked at my beloved, who was already unconscious. Ted didn’t look at me, but a tear rolled down his cheek. His mother was happy with my visit because I had brought a tear to her son’s eye, and now she knew he was aware.
“He recognized you. Look at the tear coming from his eye. Until now, I hadn’t seen any, and I haven’t left his side for a moment.”
“Would it bother him if I gave him a kiss on the forehead?” I asked uncertainly.
“A day before losing consciousness, he talked to me about a young Hispanic man he wanted to say goodbye to. He didn’t remember your number or your email or anything. When you came in, I thanked Heaven that you came. Isn’t it incredible that Ted is alone, without his children and without his friends?”