AIDS: His Disease

My cousin was there when I was born.
He stood in the hall smiling,
A tear slipping from his eye,
Looking down on me through the thick
Plexiglass window.

My cousin brought me to see Santa
On my Christmas holiday.
I sat on Santa's warm lap
Wailing like a baby
(Because I was a baby),
Reaching desperately for the embrace of my uncle.

My arms squeezed around his neck,
And we watched the great booming fireworks
On New Year's
(I was two then).

I was four when my father got knee surgery and
I stayed with my cousin at his apartment.
When it was dinner-time he didn't have much food,
But he gave me what he had.
It was cold, for there was no heater,
So he didn't mind when I crawled into his bed and
Put my little chubby arms around his neck.

On my seventh birthday
My cousin gave me a diary.
Everyone seemed to stare when I
Gave him a big kiss,
Right on the smacker.
I didn't know why,
And I didn't care.
He was my cousin.

I love my cousin because
Though he didn't have much,
He gave it all away out of love.
I love my cousin because
He was my best friend and
He loved me back.

And I was there when he went to the hospital.
I ran to his room, climbed onto the bed.
Tears streamed down my face.
And I put my arms around his neck.
They tried to pull me away,
But the harder they tugged,
The tighter I squeezed.
He had his arms around me too.
And he was crying too when he told me he loved me.
But he didn't say anything when I told him
He'd get better soon.

When he died I was told it was because
Of something bad called AIDS.
And now that I'm 16
And know what AIDS is,
I still love my cousin.
I put the most beautiful flowers
On his grave when I visit
On his birthday.
And if he were here today
I would put my arms
Around his neck, give him a
Big kiss right on the smacker
And tell not only him,
But the whole world
That I love my cousin.
Even though he had AIDS.
Love is stronger than any disease.

Fiction by Christina C.,
E. Setauket, NY