AIDS in the Family
Daniela Palacios, 18
Los Angeles, CA
Story courtesy of Dispatch Magazine. The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and not necessarily those of Advocates for Youth.
I always wanted to be daddy's little girl, but never got the chance. I always wanted my dad to take me to the park and kiss me goodnight.
All I knew about my dad was that he left me when I was 3-years-old and I felt that he didn't want anything to do with me. I remember hating him so much but I didn't know why. I was too young to understand, or see, that he was sick and he didn't want me to see him like that. I didn't understand that my dad loved me more than anything and he only wanted the best for me.
Until about two years ago, I had not heard from him in over eight years. I didn't care if he was alive. But in the last year of his life, I realized how much I needed him.
One day when I got home from school, I was ready to plop myself in front of the TV when my aunt called me and told me that she found out where my dad was. My first reaction was, "Umm, okay, what do you want me to do?"
My aunt gave me the number of the hospital where my dad was at, but I was too scared to dial the number. I didn't know what to expect. When I finally got the courage to call, I burst into tears as soon as I heard his voice. It was the first time I had heard it since the third grade. I let out eight years of happiness and eight years of hate.
A couple of weeks later, when he was out of the hospital, he came by my house and asked if I wanted to spend my vacation with him in Long Beach. I couldn't say no. There were times when I was glad to be there with him, but there were also times when I wished to go home.
He was such a clown. He loved to show me off to all his friends as his baby girl. I was proud to be his daughter. Little by little though, I started to notice that his health was getting worse. I remember days when he would sleep for seven or more hours straight because of the medication. I would wake up scared at night because he would start coughing so bad it sounded like he was choking.
There were times when he would get a high fever and we had to take him to the emergency room. I hated waiting in the lobby while they put him on ice.
I didn't want to tell him that I wished to go home already, but I couldn't stay there any longer. I couldn't stand seeing him in pain. As much as I loved him, I couldn't take another night of him complaining about something.
After I left he would visit me about once a week but I would call him everyday just to say "hi" and tell him "I love you." It wasn't until a year later that I actually realized he had AIDS and was dying. I wanted to ask him how he got AIDS, but I was too scared. My thoughts have been drugs, but it can be anything else.
Every time I saw him he looked worse and worse, but we still did things together. He even had the chance to meet my ex-boyfriend. I wasn't ashamed of my dad. He may have looked like a skeleton—with Kaposi's sarcoma, skin cancer and spots all over—but I still told everyone he was my daddy and I loved him.
I hated going to hospital after hospital and hearing different things from different doctors. There were (and still are) many things I didn't know about his condition. I knew he was going blind, but I didn't know why. Only recently I found out he had herpes in his eye (a side-effect of the HIV virus).
In his last months, he was placed in a hospice. At first I thought it was just another old folk's home, but all the people there were sick with a terminal illness. I didn't know that places like that were around. The hospice was able to give my dad all the care and attention he needed. I knew it was the best place for him.
Every time I would go see him he was out in the garden talking to one of the nurses or one of the other patients there. Those were the days I really didn't want to see him. He was losing his memory and he couldn't tell my sister and me apart. I couldn't stand seeing him struggle to move around or even light a cigarette. I knew that his day was coming. I just waited.
I still remember the day he passed away. I was with my sister getting ready to go to Six Flags Magic Mountain when my aunt called and told us he died. My first thought was, "At least he's not suffering anymore."
My sister went to work to get it off her mind but I just sat in peace. I didn't want to let my sister see me cry, so I waited, and when she was gone I let it all out. I cried like a toddler when his mom leaves him with a babysitter for the first time.
As hard as it is to tell people that both my parents have passed away (my mom died of breast cancer), I find it harder to say I didn't even know them. There are so many things I wish I could have asked my dad. There are many questions that only he could give me answers to. My only memories of him now are his Bugs Bunny laugh and his voice when he would sing me to sleep with "go to mimis, go to mimis."
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