Without PWA (people with AIDS) participating in all levels of HIV/AIDS awareness, education, research and support programs, there is no passion and therefore no motivation to move forward. Even if you work behind the scenes, it makes a difference.

Though I have remained HIV negative, the virus is, and continues to be, a part of who I am. I'm a registered nurse working in clinical trials in hopes of finding a cure for HIV. Yes, I said the "C" word. It's controversial and politically charged, but that's how revolutions begin.

Over the years, Lewis and I became liver-recovery buddies. "Oh, I am sure I had far more fun," Lewis said one day during our first year of doctor's visits, after I declared that at least I'd had fun destroying my liver. "Indirectly far more fun, that is," he added in his usual enigmatic way.

Try to see yourself as a leader, mentor and teacher. Remind yourself daily that there is no room for shame. You will find allies. We number greater than those who turn away from you and offer no help in eradicating this disease. We will move forward with you.

I'm saying goodbye to Robert again as I close this series. I will miss writing about him, because in a weird kind of way, I lived our life over again. But it was easier this time. I think I can spread his ashes now.

The visits from Jesus always happened in those lonely hours of the night when Robert was alone with his thoughts. Were they merely hallucinations resulting from the insidious disease chipping away at his brain, or were they manifestations of his faith that our souls go on forever?

I told Robert my patience was wearing thin, and then I asked him why he hadn't followed up on his diabetes diagnosis. He told me he just couldn't see going to the doctor for "every little thing." I didn't respond. My mind was somewhere else. I couldn't understand how this had happened to him.

"It's my bad blood," Robert said. "Look under my arms. There's no muscle." He took off his shirt and showed me his swollen lymph glands. Changing his clothes had become a private ritual for Robert when his health began to fail. He didn't want me to notice the changes in his body.

On Sept. 21, more than 170 people from around the world took photographs which, presented together, tell the collective story of the trials and triump...

There were some friends of mine who stopped coming to our house, for fear they might catch something. One of them actually told me that they wouldn't be coming over as long as Robert was there. If I wanted to meet him somewhere, that would be fine.

The archival-based documentary directed by renowned journalist David France manages to be moving, disquieting and gratifying all at once.

Robert was starting to sweat. His eyes were filling with tears. He was holding the knife in front of his face. His arms and head were vibrating. The knife dropped onto the blanket. Then Robert curled up into a fetal position.

Fevers, an occasional brush with bronchitis, and thrush were common occurrences for Robert over the next few years. Not knowing what was around the corner could be frightful for some, but Robert seemed to take it all in stride.

When I awoke the next morning, I found Robert asleep in the wing chair. I tiptoed out the door and went to work. Calls home that day went unanswered. That afternoon, when I got home, there was a napkin taped to the kitchen table.

I told Fred sure, I would give him another chance -- and then secretly waited until I could make a discreet exit. When I saw no one was looking, I left. Before I made it to my car I heard, "Gary, wait."

Loneliness can devour a soul left alone for too long. So, when Robert's case worker called him with an invitation for a Christmas party, he was anxious and started to feel alive again. "Maybe, just maybe," Robert thought, "someone will save me."

Robert still had money from Jim's life-insurance policy, so he felt he'd be fine, at least for a while. His body had recovered from the pneumonia, and he had started taking the miracle drug, AZT, which promised to delay the symptoms of AIDS and prolong the lives of AIDS patients.

Tootie and Tia sat in the hospital lobby waiting for some kind of news from the attending ER physician. When the physician came to tell Tootie the news about her son, she heard several words, but the only two she recognized were "thrush" and "pneumonia."

After about eight weeks in hospice, Jim, Robert's previous lover, passed on. There was a tear on Jim's cheek as he took his last breath, and the chill in the room made it look like ice. Robert, given to histrionics, wept loudly and exclaimed, "Why, Jim? Don't leave me here. Don't go without me."