I met my best friend Roy at summer orientation before our freshman year of college. I looked across the room saw this big six four Nordic blond as he turned and smiled at me and said, "There is my lifes best friend." We were so close, our friends thought we were twins. The relationship was so strong, but completely platonic. When I was in my Doctoral program and Roy was working as a social worker, Roy Invited me to Visit. As we walked around the Park told me he had AIDS. As he got sicker we each made a promise. He was done to 75 pound, in horrible pain and was being fed by a portable drip. I at Five feet one could carry him around his apartment. He wanted to unplug he IV's that fed him when it got really bad. He talked me through his plan. I promised not to let the doctors revive him if I found him. I asked him to promise me to tell me goodbye before he left. I worked as a temp receptionist in Atlanta because I didn't want to be on the road traveling with Roy so ill, but I was offered a two week job out of town at a time I desperately needed money. On my visit with Roy before I left town, we talked and I helped lift him to go to the bathroom. and I laid at the foot of his bed we talked. He was so frail and gaunt and I knew he was ready to go and that in some part he was holding on for me. I left him a letter saying I knew he was holding on and I knew he didn't want to leave me, but if he was in too much pain it was OK, I loved him. While I was gone he pulled out his IVs. My time away, niether he nor his roomate mentioned he was dying. That kindness was very much Roy. When he was finally taken to the hospital. His family, who didn't even know he was sick, came to the hospital and I told them his wish so they would not go overboard with reviving him. He came out of the coma and said goodbye. I kept my promise.

At meeting of the minds last week I asked each member of the group to share their opinion on a story in the news about a husband who shot his wife of 75 years. His daughter called it a mercy killing as his wife had Alzheimer's, couldn't sit up talk, feed or take care of herself or recognize anyone. The story brought up a talk on Euthanasia, a topic we have discussed frequently. It reminded me of a promise I made my best friend many years ago when he was dying.

Keeping promises. Based on the above, what do you have to offer? Give me a
brief pitch below.

Answer: I met my best friend Roy at summer orientation before our freshman year of college. I looked across the room saw this big six four Nordic blond as he turned and smiled at me and said, "There is my life's best friend." We were so close, our friends thought we were twins. The relationship was so strong, but completely platonic. When I was in my Doctoral program and Roy was working as a social worker, Roy Invited me to Visit. and as we walked around the Park told me he had AIDS.

Less than a year later, as he got sicker we each made a promise. He wanted to die easily and perhaps even commit suicide if it got really bad. He promised me he would tell me before he did it so we could say goodbye. He didn't want me to help him, but I said I would if he needed me. I promised that I would not tell his family that he was sick and that when he was ready to go that I would not let the doctors use extreme measures to save him.

As he got sicker, one of his illnesses made swallowing horribly painful. His weight when down to 75 pounds and his hair fell out, his cheeks caved in, his skin so thin and blueish, hung on his bones, he looked like an elderly man at Auswitch, and he was ready to be set free from his prison. I, at five feet one, could now carry him. He had a shunt to his heart for the IV hooked up to him 24/7. We teased that the food drip was easier than the Wendy's drive through and named the drip a burger and frosty with fries. He wanted to unplug the IVs when it got really bad. He talked me through his plan. I knew that he had chosen not to live with me, because he didn't want to be a burden and didn't want me to find him near death and call the ambulance. Instead, when he wasn't in one of his many long stays at the hospital he was living in a Aid Atlanta subsidized apartment.
I had turned down speaking engagements out of town, because I had been afraid leave him and perhaps loose him, while I was gone. As he got sicker and sicker But this conversation and promise made me realize he was ready to let go. When I did accept a week long training class out of town he pulled out his IVs. His family, who didn't even know he was sick, came to Atlanta and surrounded him at the hospital. I told them his wish so they would not go overboard with reviving him. He came out of the coma and said goodbye. I kept my promise.


Question 2: What is your experience with this topic?

Answer: I am a body language and relationship and an author of several books on communication www.Pattiwood.net


Question 3: Did making this promise change your life in a positive way?
What about the lives of others?

Answer: It was extreemly hard. It made me strong at a very young age. (We were both in our 20's. I realized the value of life.


Question 4: Do you feel the promise was helpful in motivating you to
keep your word and reach this goal?

Answer: I would have done anything to help him. He was in so much pain. But saying to his doctor and his famiy the promise I made gave them strength.


Question 5: Did making this promise help you overcome excuses for not
following through or periods of doubt and indecision?
Generally describe why you think the promise was helpful to
you in reaching this goal.

Answer: Because he requested the promise with the aboslute certaintly I would keep it. He knew I kept my promises. My commitment was already there. I made me realize that he belived in my strenght to keep the promise for him.

Question 6: Would you have achieved this goal or done this particular
thing if you had NOT made this promise?

Answer: I think I could, but I am not sure the Doctor and the family would have wanted to. Even though I had been with him for his last year.


Last Question: Anything else you`d like to add?

Answer: It is a hard promise. Now people have living wills. I would
recommend they put it in writing. If I hadn't had such an
amazing freindship it would have been even more difficult.

Today an author who is writing a book about "reunions" with lost loved ones asked me to share the story of my friend Roy.
We Were Like Twin Souls, Accepting Each Other Down to the Core

I would bring back my best friend Roy Moyer. He died of AIDS 21 years ago, at the age of 29. We met at freshman orientation at Florida State University in Tallahassee, in 1976. I looked across the room and saw this tall, handsome Nordic blond guy. I said to myself: ‘There is my life’s best friend.” We became like brother and sister, closer even: like twin souls.
For years, we did everything together. We giggled and laughed and disco danced through the seventies. We were housemates our senior year; we fixed hundreds of awesome dinners together; we shopped and traveled together, and we shared our inner most feelings and experiences. In fact sharing something with Roy was often the best part of a new event in my life and hearing something wonderful that Roy experienced made me as happy as it made him.

Roy was warm and funny, goofy and silly in a Dudley Doo Right kind of way. He was kind and loving and generous and had a deep full laugh that was contagious. We accepted each other down to the core. Someone loving you that much made you feel loved absolutely. Roy taught me that people showed their love in different ways even saying Patti when I fix your broken necklace I am showing I love you when I reach something from a high shelf for you I am showing that I love you and I know when you have my favorite big BLT fixed for me at lunch you are loving me when you let me sing off key through a long car ride you’re showing that you love me.
We were tender and affectionate with one another always hugging each other and cuddling on the couch, but not in a sexual way. I was not attracted to him, which worked well as he was gay. Instead, we completed each other.

After college, he moved to Atlanta and became a social worker. I went to Auburn University to pursue a Master’s degree, and then returned to Tallahassee to begin a Ph.D. program. Roy and I where as close as ever. We talked for hours on our weekly phone calls and visited each other every few months.
I lived in a small town where I couldn't’t go shopping without running into someone I knew. Roy and I were so close that when my friends in Tallahassee would see me they would always ask, “How are you?” “How is Roy?”

I had a four-bedroom house with a big fenced-in yard that my dog would play in. I took martial arts classes, and I had a group of friends that were like a second family. I had a steady boyfriend. I’d eat grape nuts for breakfast and joke with my roommate about our crazy dream from the night before. I’d start my day singing in the shower and then get in my car singing along with the songs on my radio and go to work.

I had my own consulting company and taught communication at Florida State; my class in nonverbal communication had 150 students enrolled each semester. I was living a happily-ever-after existence, and Roy always a part of me and me always a part of him was so very happy too.

When we were both 29 Roy and I were walking in Atlanta’s Piedmont Park his big 6’2 frame towering above my petite two inches. It was a beautiful spring day as we circled the lake and I was blissfully breathing the fragrant flowered air. As we rounded a curve, Roy stopped, brushed back his blond hair, turned toward me and said, “Patti, I’m dying.”

I heard a loud gut-wrenching scream crying “No!” echo across the lake. It took me a moment to realize the scream was mine.

In that moment, everything in my life began to change. I knew with certainty I had to move to Atlanta to be with Roy. I didn’t ask him if he wanted me to come, I just decided. People thought I was crazy. But it was really selfish – I just had to be with him.

Within a few days, my boyfriend had broken up with me - he was afraid of being infected from my innocent friendship with Roy - and I began getting rid of my belongings. I sold almost everything in the house down to the bare walls. I took the cash and left my house, my friends, and my speaking business. I took a job as at temp receptionist in Atlanta to make ends meet, exchanging a $500-a-day speaking life for a $6.50-an-hour wage. Instead of being treated with respect and admiration, I was treated like a servant.

I took a small apartment and fitfully slept on a borrowed mattress on the floor of my closet. I was alone in a city filled with strangers. I would visit Roy every day he was in the hospital and sit on the edge of his bed, holding his hand. And though Roy and I would laugh as we always did, our jokes were about the glove-wearing hospital staff that tried to avoid touching him, his new free hospital gown wardrobe with built in”ties in back” air-conditioning and about his new easy diet plan, we called “Wendy’s drive through” a drip from a stand above his bed when he could no longer eat.

Over the year I watched him decline, he went from a being a strapping six foot 2 inch man to an emaciated 90-pounds that I could carry in my arms. I would return home each night, take a shower and weep uncontrollably. My sleep was filled with concentration camp filled nightmares. I saw Roy lose his ability to first walk, then to eat, then to remember, to speak and finally his ability to breathe.

Roy died in July before his 30th birthday. I could not believe that the world would keep spinning without that sweet boy. I could not believe that I didn’t die too. I was so surprised that I could actually go on breathing without him. His family insisted I have his ashes. He told me before he died he wanted me to have them so he could come to my wedding.

The reunion I envision would start out with just for the two of us. We would walk around his beloved Piedmont Park in Atlanta. As we walked, we’d catch up on each other’s news. We’d laugh about him never getting older than 29 and the fact that I, at 50, was still a tiny blond.

We would cry over having missed so many dinners and trips with each other. I’d tell him about the speaking practice I rebuilt after he died. I’d express regret that I haven’t yet married, so don’t yet have a son I can name Roy. I’d tell him how sorry I am that his sickness prevented him from marrying the man he loved, who later also died of AIDS.

Then we’d go for dinner at one of his favorite restaurants. He loved fine foods. We’d meet up with friends after dinner and go dancing together until the wee hours.

And I’d thank him for being the best friend in the world to me, for making my life so much richer through the gift of his unconditional love.
--Patti Wood, 50, Atlanta, GA, motivational speaker and consultant on nonverbal