I didn’t know my brother was gay until close to the time he died. When AIDS stole his life, I was advised not to tell.
By Jacque White Kochak
When my brother died of AIDS, I was advised not to tell anyone. My adviser was a parent at my son’s school. A well-meaning pediatrician, he was short and round, with glasses and a single tuft of hair on his balding head. I figured he knew what he was talking about, so I took his advice.
I was living in the suburbs of New York City, and the year was 1995. The AIDS epidemic had settled in; at that point, some 500,000 cases had been reported to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta…
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Painting by Natalya Kochak
talking to myself 