Wildwood

Some weekends I’d get away from it all by going up to Wildwood, a beautiful retreat center in the hills above the redwoods along the Russian River. In the past, production companies from San Francisco had made gay pornos like Bunk Buddies and Cream of the Crop in the abandoned out-buildings.

Now all kinds of retreats were held there, some focusing on self-care, some specifically for People with AIDS and their loved ones. There were weekend events for massage therapists and meditators and yogis and masturbators and juice fasters and chanters and leather guys and lesbians working in AIDS. Elizabeth Kubler Ross held externalization workshops there so people could cry and scream as loud as they needed to in the empty fields.

Several times a year they held writing retreats specifically for AIDS caregivers and I tried to get to as many of them as possible. The women who ran them were very skilled and had great prompts and exercises to help people drop in and write about the terrible impact that AIDS was having on every part of daily life.

One of the teachers used letter writing to get to deeper issues that arose when we were surrounded by so many people who were sick and dying. One weekend she asked us to bring a favorite childhood photograph and had us write a letter to our younger selves, telling them something they needed to hear back then. I looked at my 8-year-old self and reassured him that things were going to work out, not to worry so much about his mother and his siblings, who were always in his heart and mind.

After we’d read our letters aloud, she asked us to take our pen, put it in our other hand, and this time have the child in the photo write a letter back to our adult selves. Because our handwriting was so awkward and childlike, it really did feel like we were children again.

The little boy in my photo could see how sad I was and wrote to meet him outside so we could get on our bike and ride for blocks and blocks like we used to, not needing to be anywhere, not needing to do anything but move through the sun and the air, knowing that when we turned around and got home, everyone would be there.