The story of my FRIEND
© Donna A Minott, December 2, 2001

This is the story of my FRIEND
Born to a mother who prostituted herself
To provide for her child,
And then to buy the drugs
To forget the hopelessness
That was her life;
A mother who sent her to buy the drugs
And then in time introduced her to it;
A mother who prostituted her
So that she could now provide
The much yearned for drugs
For both of them;
A mother who died early
Leaving her in a pit that had been dug
Long before she was conceived.

This is the story of my FRIEND
Who found a man to fend for her,
To give her a child;
A man who left her
And took their child with him
When he could no longer ignore
The drugs, the prostitution,
The extreme swings in behaviour.

This is the story of my FRIEND
Who earned much and lost more;
Who lost an eye
Through domestic violence;
A result of a fight with one of the many Men that paraded through her life.

This is the story of my FRIEND
Who not having reached thirty
Has yet lived through three lifetimes,
Who is the mother of a teenager
That she has rarely seen;
Who no longer prostitutes herself;
Who has overcome addiction;
Who has been able to get in touch with
And to develop her spirituality,
Who has yet to come to
The realization of her self worth.

This is the story of my FRIEND
Bent over and suffering
With a pain that medicine cannot help
In more ways than one;
Oftentimes unable to prevent herself
From crying out with the pain,
She nevertheless refused
To be dragged down with it
And would talk through it,
Would encourage you to engage with her
To laugh with her rather than to cry.

This is the story of my FRIEND
With a bubbly, lively personality
Who is never down longer
Than it takes her to smile
And for you to smile with her.

This is the story of my FRIEND
Who is ten years my junior
But who tells me
I am the mother she never had,
As she clings to my hand
While lying in the lonely hospital bed
Who cries while she asks
How I, a stranger, cares more,
Could find something in her
To love and to hug
While her own mother could not.

This is the story of my FRIEND
Who hugged me, lifted me off my feet
And swung me around,
Laughing exuberantly
At being able to stand erect
And in less pain,
Mistakenly attributing this to
My intervention in her care
When I knew it was a result of her spirit,
Her hopes, her will to live, her prayers.

This is the story of my FRIEND
Who in the end lived positively
And died positively.

Dedicated to all positive persons who refuse to die with AIDS but to live with it.