Although my work visiting and talking to people in the intimacy of their own homes was always of an essentially private nature, over time there developed an imperative to go public with some of these experiences, both in me and in some of my clients. The essence of the heroism I experienced was that it was so quiet, so unseen and unsung.

The people I saw certainly would not have thought of themselves as special, brave or heroic. Rather, if asked, they would have acknowledged that they were, on balance, afraid of pain and affliction, cowards like most of us.   

But when faced with adversity of great proportions these “small people” rose to the occasion, quietly and without fanfare staring down the harshest of demons. This triumph of the human spirit made me less afraid of life, knowing that even I, scared as I was, would likely be able to cope with whatever disasters life threw at me.

And my clients could help others to feel this confidence. The father who watches over his baby daughter and shudders at the thought of losing her. The wife embracing her husband, knowing that, if anything took him from her, she would be unable to go on.  Well, they will be able to cope. They will rise from the wreckage and will survive. They will even learn how to smile again. That wan smile in my clients, given time, often evolved into a belly laugh.

These considerations prompted me to produce a Public Access TV show called Heart To Heart.  Some of the people I visited, living stories of quiet survival over what seemed like insurmountable obstacles, expressed a need to share their stories with a wider audience than just me with my clipboard, and the TV show offered that wider audience.

There are 200 half-hour shows – simple, unedited conversations where I encourage people living with HIV to share their experiences with a public who have no idea of the courage, loneliness, hope and despair existing behind the facades of buildings most of us drive past without a second thought.  I, and many people like me, went into those homes.