As Rudy became sicker, he didn't reveal anything about his illness but his fit body became less and less able to do the things he loved, including caring for his own horses. When my husband and I visited him in the hospital, we were made to gown up and it was clear that this was to protect Rudy more than it was to protect us. The only explanation given was that he had leukemia.

By the time he died, I knew he must have AIDS. As a paramedic, I recognized many of the symptoms. Since Rudy never spoke of it or his personal life, it became a politely ignored secret.

When he died, people continued to act according to whatever story they believed or wanted to believe about Rudy. The rift this caused at the funeral was deep. It seemed to me that the mourners at the funeral were of two camps -- those who accepted Rudy and his life and the disease which killed him and those who didn't. Neither side could speak publicly about the truth.

Sometime later, two other co-workers -- Nancy and Jane -- and I talked of making a panel to honor Rudy. Jane did the research to find out what was involved. Since I was a quilter, I was in charge of the technical planning. We decided to incorporate the idea of the plaid flannel shirts that were the mainstay of Rudy's wardrobe and his love of horses. We decided to split the panel into three parts, one for each of us and to do what we each wanted to do in it.

Jane's section on the left has a hand coming from the sleeve pointing at a small pink figure reaching up towards it. This represents Rudy's daughter.

Nancy's section in the center has a horse over a pocket. She wrote out words which started with the letters in Rudy's name on the right side of her section.

My part on the right also has some horses, running. I found a quote from Melville about haying and wrote that in a small panel. Then I made a small scene of a mountain with a newly mown field of hay, in honor of Rudy's other worklife. I was always impressed at how hard he worked and how satisfying he found that work to be, even when working in the pouring rain or heat.

We put a "name tag" in the neckband of the shirt, saying simply "rudy." Even then we continued to keep his secret, by not putting his last name.

Rudy died in the spring of the year, just before the first hay would have been taken. I think of him each year as I see the fields mowed and see the trucks stacked high with hay going along the highways or being unloaded at local barns.

The end of Rudy's life is an example of the damage a secret can do. It puts distance between people who care about each other, making it impossible to speak the truth, making it hard to comfort, making them wonder why they aren't trusted enough to share the secret. Keeping a secret makes people act in foolish, hurtful ways. Pretending that a secret doesn't exist wastes time and energy and can kill.