One Mum's Journey

By Helga Brady

Peter was admitted to Flinders Medical Centre two years after he was diagnosed with AIDS. Until that time he kept his condition from us. Some of his friends knew, but he felt not to share this news with his family. This was possibly because his father and I were going through divorce proceedings, and he wanted to shelter me from more concerns.

Peter developed a severe bout of influenza, and it was this that broke the silence on his condition. He became frightened about the threat that this 'cold' now presented to him. He rang me to take him to hospital. I arrived at his home and when our eyes met there was communication, he endorsed what was unsaid by saying, "I have AIDS."

Peter was admitted to hospital and prescribed AZT, which was to help him regain his strength and to extend his life a couple of years. The hospital staff were great, without their help we would have been lost. We juggled visiting with our work commitments and attempted to come to terms with what lay ahead.

The two years that followed were traumatic, yet precious. On one hand we watched Peter struggle and suffer. When he suffered we suffered with him. On the other hand we spent many hours talking, crying, laughing and reminiscing, those times were indeed very special for it brought the family closer together.

You see, Peter, had drifted away, he said it was because he knew we could not accept his homosexual lifestyle. Now the intensity of the situation had fused us together once again.

He did not stay in hospital all that time, initially when he became physically weaker he came and stayed at home. With the help of Domiciliary Care and RDNS I cared for him. There were times of such intensity that I just had to get out of the house to cope!

During this time, someone asked me whether I was angry? I thought about the question and wondered with whom could I be angry? I could blame Peter, after all, he made the decisions that led him this far. "No, how could I do that?" All I could do now is love him, support him, and give him my best, now that our time was limited.

I was fortunate that I belonged to an active church, the home group to which I belonged were a tremendous support. One of the pastors visited on a regular basis and became a friend to Peter. They were able to talk together about death and remove much of the fear that was there. Peter admitted that he had made a choice years ago- albeit a wrong one.

A couple of weeks before he died he said that he had made peace with his Maker.
His final days were spent in hospital and a hospice. We watched as we saw his life slipping away, by this time we were all exhausted physically and emotionally. He could no longer cope with the pain and had to be given morphine. It was about this time that I had to let go.

I walked into his room on that particular day and we both knew that his release from this life was at hand. He died soon after. Like a past statesman has said, "We can't bring him back, but one day we will go to him.