It was a weekday in June 1992 when I received that phone call. That was thirty-two years ago. I was taking a nap that late afternoon. Robert’s mama was on the phone. She told me that Robert was in the hospital and that he was asking to see me. I was a new member of the church where Robert’s mama had been a member for years. I had only met Robert but one time when he, his mama, and some other family members gave me a ride to the train station on that Sunday afternoon. That particular Sunday, I was assigned to read New Testament Scripture during morning worship service. While on the phone with Robert’s mama, I told her that I would visit Robert at the hospital before the day was over.
Even though I was struggling with not having a job, trying to find two nickels to make a dollar and, on top of that, I was in seminary, with a keen interest in hospital chaplaincy and, by the grace of God, I scraped up enough change for train fare to go and see Robert. God has a way of providing during the hard times in life (a lesson that I have had to learn over and over again).
After arriving at the hospital and after entering Robert’s room, he was lying in bed. After seeing me, his spirit and soul lit up like a Christmas tree. Robert stood up and hugged me tightly, and I embraced him in my arms with the love of Jesus Christ of Nazareth.
Robert told me that he had been in the hospital for a few days and that the doctors were running tests to find out what was wrong with him. I listen and allowed him to talk while holding his hand and sometimes holding him. Before leaving him, we prayed. I kissed him on the cheek. I told him that I would visit him again real soon.
I visited Robert a few days later, which was an early Friday evening. I was on my way to the church revival, and I had been assigned to give a reading during worship. Instead of going to the church revival, all I wanted to do was stay with Robert and keep him company.
I remember Robert escorting me to the visiting area on his ward as he wheeled his intravenous pole. We were standing in front of each other. Robert looked me in the eyes and told me that his doctors had found what was wrong with him. Robert shared, “I’m HIV positive.” After a few seconds of shock, I wrapped him up in my arms with tender love and care, and I whispered, “There’s life after HIV.” Robert cried in my arms. As I wiped his tears with my hand, I comforted him with these words, “You’re not alone. I’m here.”
For weeks, the Holy Spirit has been encouraging my spirit to write this piece and to share some of Robert’s story with you. I hope this reading has been a blessing.
WORKING THROUGH IT 