Regulars: Column

Caroline Guinness-McGann reflects on the recent loss of a special friend.

My own free will

My mother had a saying ‘When money worries walk in the door, love walks out’. I was reminded of this recently as I tried to piece together the circumstances of my best friends death.

The and I forged an unbreakable bond when we met in 1973. We had both escaped abusive families, hers a wealthy ‘old American’ family of - as she called them - ‘Homophobic Rabid Republicans’. We were free spirits who embraced the Hippy London lifestyle with open arms. We had many close gay friends, most of whom had also escaped abusive backgrounds for the freedom of London in the days of Gay and Women’s Liberation. We all matured together and encouraged each other as we strove to make our own individual paths; many became leaders in their chosen fields of careers. Many formed successful relationships that lasted for years.

I witnessed these ‘vultures’ strip every asset, personal effect, and, to add insult to injury, I witnessed long standing partners who had cared for their lover throughout their illness, barred from attending their funerals. The ‘money worries’ these people had was the fear of losing their relative’s money to the person the dying man loved.”

When HIV/AIDS appeared and cut a swathe through our community we all joined forces to care for each other and many became activists and experts in this field. Then the deaths started as one after another fell ill, suffered terribly and died. I gave up counting the number of funerals I attended before the advent of ARV’s. One of the most distressing aspects of this was the treatment allotted to the bereaved partners of the many Gay men who died. Over and over again families who had rejected them because of their sexuality appeared at their bedside as they lay dying, not because they had a sudden change of heart but because, knowing that they were financially successful, they wanted to make sure that they inherited all that was left. More often than not the dying man’s partner was sidelined, unacknowledged and cut out. I witnessed these ‘vultures’ strip every asset, personal effect, and, to add insult to injury, I witnessed long standing partners who had cared for their lover throughout their illness, barred from attending their funerals. The ‘money worries’ these people had was the fear of losing their relative’s money to the person the dying man loved. There was no ‘legal civil partnership’ then which meant the bereaved partners had no way to stop these disgusting antics. One of the reasons Mark and I married was to ensure that we had the legal right to represent each others wishes, we were both aware of the pitfalls that could occur if either of us were not able to look after our own affairs.

As my best friend lay dying in a hospital in Beirut (she worked for the UN) I was not informed by her siblings that she was receiving treatment for cancer. They finally contacted me the night before she died. As I prepared to fly out to her side they called to say she was dead. The shock, pain and grief I felt was indescribable. The questions that flooded my brain haunted me. Her body was flown back to New York, cremated within days. I am still waiting for the ‘Ash scattering’ ceremony which, at my suggestion, should be in our favourite city, Venice, where she, I and some of her closest friends had spent many enjoyable days together.

The first thing I was asked by her sister was whether I knew the whereabouts of a gay man she had married in a ‘Hippy ceremony’ in the early ‘70’s. They were horrified when they discovered that she had never divorced him and that he stood to inherit her ‘substantial estate’. They repeatedly stressed that he ‘must be dead due to his lifestyle’ as they, like so many conservatives, believed that all gay men deserved to die of AIDS.

It then slipped out, during a visit to our home by her sister a month ago, that they had forced her to make a will a few days before she died. The relevance of their timing became clear. All the memories of those early AIDS deaths came flooding back. I could not believe it was happening again, to me.

I have lost my soul mate, my mentor, my wonderful friend. No amount of money could ever compensate for this huge loss. I feel that her refusal to divorce Billy, no matter how much she was pressurised by her family, was her final act of rebellion. It was also indicative of her wonderful sense of humour, something they never understood.

My mission now is to track down Billy and inform him that, despite the will her family forced her to make, there is still a large inheritance waiting for him. It is what she would have wanted. I can also hear all the other departed who went through similar treatment laughing with her right now. Billy, if you are reading this, please contact me. There is a party to organise, to celebrate the life of our wonderful ‘Notoria’.

Victoria Gibson-Anderson. Sep 23rd 1951 - Nov 10th 2005. RIP. PN