The Heart of the Matter

Debbi Lieberson

Many times during the months he was sick. I thought about asking my husband, Rich, what he would want on his panel for the AIDS quilt. But I never found a way. More than a year after his death, I began working on a project that I thought would feel safe and familiar, that would help me begin my healing. Sewing and quilting had been part of my life for years, and I looked forward to creating a tangible memorial that would show the times before AIDS, before pain and ugliness overgrew so much of our lives. I wanted people to know about Rich's politics, and his humor, and his love for our son, Ben.

Several weeks after he died in 1991, I donated all of Rich's clothing to a shelter for homeless men. All except his T-shirts. Those I meticulously folded into a large cardboard box that I put on the top shelf of my bedroom closet. Some of his shirts were so worn that they barely held together. Every one displayed a message "Free Nelson Mandela," "Peace in a United Ireland," "U.S. Out. of El Salvador." Each was laden with memories of demonstrations Rich participated in, articles he had written, political arguments we had had.

One evening the following winter, I cleared a large area to be begin my work. I spread out the three-by-six-foot piece of black fabric I planned to use for the background. This size had been specified in the literature I received from the NAMES Project, the organization that sponsors the AIDS quilt. Only later did I learn the significance of the dimensions. Each quilt panel is the size of a gravesite.

For the first time, I opened the box of T-shirts I had packed up so many months before. I smelled each one as I unfolded it, covering my nose and mouth with