Take notes. Grief, too, comes for everyone. I worked with adolescent boys who had HIV. Those were the days when nothing and no one was safe. Two thirds of them had lost one parent. Many had concomitant issues (various cancers). When someone from the group died, the boys insisted they would go to the funeral. I had vowed to never go to another funeral. Whenever I go to a funeral, it rains. Every time. It used to be annoying, but rain is now my friend. We were always the last to leave. No one could tell if you were crying or just soaked.

Or both.

Some of them fell completely apart. Some plunged back into addiction. Some were frozen and needed help. Some were in the trenches fighting for their lives. AIDS is not over. It’s changed. Some went over the edge and returned to sex work. They swore they had never bonded with anyone. It hurt too much. I know this: They had bonded to one another. There was such a thing as suicide watch. Grief was rock and roll.

PTS is grief as well. The only way I can handle it is to literally shut up. I listen. My focus is the kid, not the grief. The boys wanted to fight. To punch someone (anyone) in the face. Then, there were young men who wanted you to punch them in the face. Punch and punch back. But it was the wrestling on the floor and the intensity of that conflict a reciprocity where the entire room was weeping their guts out. I brought a tissue box to every funeral. The tissues were a rained sloppy mess. We laughed at that one.

– Tim Barrus