If only……...
23 years after my twin brother passed, I am finally able to write some of his story. If I had known then what I know now, couldI have changed a life or death outcome? Could I have handled it better?
I need to give you a bit of backstory here. My twin, Nick, and I were born in March 1958 in England. Nick was a bit darker than me and had a birthmark on his forehead. We shared a mum, a pram with two hoods, a cot, and often wore the same colour and style of clothes. I remember a photo of little tartan trousers and matching woolly jumpers! I had short hair, so I looked like a boy, and I was at least a head shorter than Nick from what I have seen of the early photos.
We were in the same class in the little village school all the way through our junior years. We shared a bedroom until it was deemed we were too old to do so. We shared our older brother, but he used to play all sorts of tricks on us and get us into trouble, so we were not too close.
Nick and I were close. Unspoken, yet totally getting each other from when I could first remember. I can honestly say that I do not recall Nick ever judging me, even for all the stupid things I did. I still have a little hanky pouch shaped like a heart that he made for me when he was in hospital (to hae the birthmark on his forehead removed) around age nine or ten. I still keep photos in a stationery box he gave me back then. I am heading towards 68 years and have moved so many times. Some things can’t be let go of.
So, to summarise, we were close, very close—acorns from a twin tree.
Nick was tall, skinny, and a soft, gentle giant. Boys picked on him at school because they could get away with it. He was sensitive, and sometimes I would be the bold one and stick up for him. He came out at 18 when we were living in a beautiful English town called Cheltenham. He was a chef and I was a hotel receptionist. Mum had sent us there at 16 to go to college, as there was little work or prospects in the little village we had grown up in. I used to play tennis with his beautiful girlfriend, who was about to become his fiancée. One day she was playing like she had no arms, and I asked her what was up with her. She tearfully told me that Nick, the love of her life, had declared he was gay and they would not be getting engaged. I was furious—not because he was gay, but because he did not tell me himself. He had thought I would never speak to him again. Fat chance! To me, he was still my beautiful brother and it made no difference to me. This was back in 1975, and being gay was pretty frowned upon back then.
Of course, I went home with him to help break the news to Mum and my stepdad. Mum blamed herself and kept asking what she had done wrong. My wonderful stepdad was the voice of calm and understanding. Mum could not comprehend that Nick was gay and really didn’t have much idea what that was. Dad was trying to help her see that nothing had changed. He was still her boy.
I remember years later Nick told me that he had always known he was different. When the other boys at high school used to get him down on the grass and tickle him or rough him up just a little bit, he secretly enjoyed it. I just accepted my brother no matter what and must admit I felt quite grateful to be accepted into these secret (back then) pubs and clubs which were exclusively gay. I remember when we both moved to London—it was easier to be gay in the big city. My fiancé at the time, my best mate, and her boyfriend wanted to go to Heaven, one of the top gay clubs in London at the time. So my guy and my mate’s guy pretended to be gay and arrived together, and my mate and I, practically peeing ourselves with laughter, watched them try to camp it up a little so they could gain entry into the club. Needless to say, they never wanted to go back! The attention of other men and an invitation into the “Red Room” was more than they could handle! Nick had several relationships, some fleeting, some lasting years.
After five years in London, I met and moved to New Zealand with my new husband in 1986—the first time Nick and I had been apart for more than a few weeks. We kept in touch by letter, and then when emails became a thing, contact was a little easier. Phone calls were expensive and mobiles did not exist back then.
Our first daughter was born in 1991. My dear stepdad had passed, and even though Mum had promised to come over to meet her grandchild, she had been diagnosed with emphysema, so flying was not an option. So we went to the UK instead to celebrate our daughter’s first birthday in January ’92. As we sat on the plane during the long journey from NZ to the UK, I shared my concern about HIV and AIDS with my husband. It was a sobering conversation in spite of our excitement to be going “home”. AIDS was suddenly in the news and spreading throughout the world. It seemed to be a predominantly gay disease, passed through blood, saliva, or seminal fluid.
In a chilly and grey English winter, once the dust had settled, my husband took on the role of going to the laundrette to wash the nappies and having a pint or two with my elder half-brother. On this particular day, Nick, Mum, and I were together at Mum’s. He started to preamble around the inevitable subject, and I tried to make it easy for him. “Are you HIV positive?” The answer I never wanted to hear was “Yes.” Mum seemed to have come to terms with it, but I believe she did not have much idea what might be ahead for Nick.
When his “friend” phoned later, I asked if he was the guy he had contracted HIV from. Again, a “Yes.” I felt so incensed that he was still speaking to this man who had infected him. It appeared Nick had symptoms, but the guy was asymptomatic—quite common between partners. My beautiful brother explained how they were in a relationship and how he was in total forgiveness in this situation. There had been no awareness that the partner had been HIV positive when he and Nick had connected.
I will share a little of Nick’s journey with HIV, which lasted ten years until he finally succumbed to AIDS-related lung cancer. He passed on February 24th, 2002, aged 43.
The point of this article is that since the Covid plandemic, I have become much more aware of what has been happening behind the scenes, and I now believe that HIV was an introduced disease targeted specifically at the gay community—population control in its most brutal form. My brother struggled so much with his health during those years. As a man who rarely complained I sometimes had to insist that he tell me what he was going through. It was pretty horrific. When I travelled over to the UK from Australia in September, 2001, Nick had been in Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, bedridden for three months. All the AIDS patients were in Oncology because all the medications and treatments resulted in patients developing some sort of cancer. I saw the Oncologist on my arrival, already knowing that Nick was terminal, as he had been emailing me, pending my arrival in the UK. The Doctor suggested he be discharged and go home to spend quality time with me before he died. He discharged him on the spot.I was pretty panicked as I had never nursed anyone so sick, but of course, I agreed. He had to have a hospital bed, all the products for his feeding tubes, all his medications and a walking frame at home so it took a day for the hospital to pull it all together. I went to his home and emptied his fridge and freezer as everything was past the use by date. While I cleaned his home, which had been unoccupied for three months, my friend Dawn, spent seven hours working to bring his garden into order. He loved his garden and it had not been touched for those three months. She put so much love into that rather arduous task.
Nick came home, never having shared that he was terminal my. My job was to share this terrible news with his friends, most of whom were unknown to me, that their special friend was not coming home because he was better. Quite the reverse. To cope, I believe I went into a freeze state, otherwise I would literally have collapsed. My duty of care for my brother, and to be there for him was paramount. I had to keep it all together. Just as he had always been there for me. I recall he had two lovely gay friends living upstairs and when, at times, it all got too much for me, or Nick was snappy because he felt so sick, I’d go upstairs and sob in their arms.
I was responsible for Nick’s medication. He took 26 tablets in the morning, another 12 at midday and up to 24 at night. I could barely breathe as I counted out the pills, knowing somewhere inside of me that they really were more likely to be the cause of his demise than to rescue him from it.
You will have to excuse me here. It was not my intention to write all this, but I have NEVER written about all this and I realise how raw it feels even though it was nearly 24 years ago.
Nick’s ex- partner (now friend) from whom he had contracted HIV, came to visit. He was tall and had chocolate coloured skin and was strikingly handsome. He wore a fashionable long trench coat and oozed style. He also adored Nick. But he was well and that set my blood boiling! Why Nick, my beautiful Nick? I let this man into Nick’s flat and went to have a few drinks at the pub with a girlfriend. I really couldn’t bear to make smalltalk with a man who would live after my brother died.
I think the toughest day was a visit from a gentle Salvation Army man who came to prepare Nick’s will. We chatted about what was required and the whole experience was surreal to me. He allocated a list of friends who could come around and chhose something of his once he had gone, to remember him by. We chose the music for the funeral as though we were choosing it for a party. Nick was stoic and I tried to be the same as I crumbled inside.
We had several visitors, friends, family and more friends. A lot of the time it was awkward but sometimes we managed a laugh and a reminisce of past fun times. A friend procured a wheelchair and on a superbly warm Autumn day we took Nick to Richmond park (myself and a couple of friends). We watched the deer and ate icecreams and for a moment in time life felt almost normal.
I remember we had to go back into hospital for a night. Nick got very dizzy and delusional, and I had no idea it was from lack of oxygen. My poor brother could not even take a full breath. We had an oxygen tank in the bathroom but we could not keep it near him as Nick was smoking weed to try and help with the pain. We did not want an explosion! In the hospital, he lay in the corridor with glaring lights everywhere, for what seemed like hours. I believe at one time he thought he was dead as he was telling me he was in the ‘Light’. Whe the doctor finally did the scan I asked why? He is dying, what on earth are you doing a scan for? There was no answer. Just more discomfort for Nick to suffer so some boxes could be ticked.
As my three weeks came to a close I had to deliver Nick to a hospice as he was unable to look after himself. My girlfriend, again was with us for moral support as I never could have coped emotionally on my own. The place was a beautiful old mansion with magnificent gardens. We took him for a walk through the gardens and raved about his well appointed room. It was the hardest thing I ever did, saying goodbye then, knowing I would never see my darling brother again. He was there to die. Or so we thought………
My friend bundled me on a train to the airport and the numbness stole over me again. Life without him looked bleak. Once back in Australia I was welcomed by my girls, who seemed to have grown in the three weeks I’d been away. And by a very relieved husband who had worried I may not be coming home.
A few weeks later I got a call from Nick. He was back home. He had loved the food at the hospice and put on weight and told them he wanted to go home. So they let him. By Christmas he took a turn for the worse and went back to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital where he finally passed, my older brother by his side.
The reason for this story is that I now know, just like the Covid lies and debauchery, that HIV was manufactured as a population control. “Let’s experiement and get rid of the Gays.” My brother was a guinea pig, along with millions of others so that Big Pharm could play God and foist all these ‘amazing’ treatments on sick and unsuspecting people. I don’t know if you have seen Philadelphia (1993) with Tom Hanks and Denzel Washington. It certainly opened my eyes to aspects of that time when most of us were unaware of the agenda.
The side effects my brother suffered from the medication was inhuman. He ended up with Aids related lung cancer and he suffered so much on the way. They all ended up with cancer. The cocktail of drugs they administered had side effects enough to kill anyone.
Needless suffering, to line the pockets of those at the top who had no conscience. Nick and his compatriots were laboratory experiments. He endured all that for ten years. Until his life finally ebbed away. Could I have made a difference if I had been more awake? Could I have thrown his pills away and jumped in with my, then, very limited natural health knowledge? I did Reiki on his swollen legs, and cooked for him when he cared to eat, and did whatever I could. Maybe there was so much more I could have done if I had shaken myself out of my emotional coma and questioned everything the doctor’s were doing and saying. I know Nick had am amazing journey with HIV. He was interviewed with Elton John as he was the chairman of an AIDs Foundation that Elton was patron of. He had a very minor role in a Tom Hanks/Stephen Spielberg series called Band of Brothers (playing a concentration camp victim because he was so emaciated). He travelled to Australia, USA. Ireland and many other places until he was too sick. He worked tirelessly to support and care for others with like affliction. He attended festivals and Gay Pride events and had a network of friends anyone would have been envious of. He never complained. I say a huge thank you here to all the volunteers and nursing staff who did all they could to ease the suffering of these hapless victims.
These are the thoughts and opinions of me personally as a sister who dearly loved her twin. I take no responsibility for inaccuracy in this article as it’s personal.
This is the poem I wrote just before Nick passed. A nurse held the phone to Nick’s ear as I shared this poem with him from Australia. The nurse was so caring and said even though Nick was failrly unresponsive she could tell he had received my words. I bless that nurse.
After 23 years, I am finally able to write some of this down. I wonder if I am now able to “let go” of the injustice and inhumanity of that time and find peace. I know Nick has. For that, I am grateful.
So much to have held within. A lovely rememberance.