by Suzi Smith
It’s 6:58 in the evening, in an Airbnb near the heart of Kansas City. We’ve lowered the curtains so the golden light of the setting sun filters through the slats, casting dust particles in suspension. The house is filled with people, but a hush has fallen over us. Anxious whispers, the subtle creaks of an older house and quiet excitement feuds with the muffled sounds of the nearby city. Disco music plays quietly through the TV.
Keeping watch near one of the windows, I motion to the group that the time has come. A knock sounds and I move to answer it. As Mike Cox and his husband Brandon move across the threshold there is a moment where time seems to hold its breath. A pause, an empty room, confusion. Then the music turns up just in time for the eternal chorus of “We Are Family,” and everyone spills into the living room, dancing in an odd disco-conga line mash-up. Bewilderment paints Mike’s face. Then. Recognition! The electrified shock and surprise that overwhelm him brings tears to my eyes, and I am not alone. More than fifteen members of his family, from all across the country, have conspired to surprise Mike during his visit to Kansas City. The outpouring of love and affection warms my heart. This is a surprise party. But the love is no surprise. Mike Cox is the warmest, most genuine and loving person I have ever known. Of course people have gathered from across the country to celebrate him. For this gathering is uniquely significant. Mike turned sixty a few weeks ago; thirty-three of those sixty years haunted by the lingering presence of AIDS.
I believe we are here on this earth and this existence to become more than we walked on stage with. To do less is to not give credit to the gifts we’re given.
Mike Cox
While the diagnosis has, without a doubt, impacted his life, his path has never been easy. The oldest of five children, he was born and raised in rural Missouri. Extremely intelligent, he was younger than many of his classmates and as a result was often singled out and bullied. It was not a time of acceptance; Mike kept his sexuality hidden well into young adulthood. As a teenager he was selected to attend a private boarding school with the intention of becoming a priest. He stayed in the seminary into college until he came out as gay. He was promptly kicked out. He doesn’t consider this a bad thing, saying: “The seminary was a bad fit. There was no spiritual calling to join the seminary, I was there because I enjoyed helping people. I think that’s what being a priest was about, that’s just part of who I am, I gravitate towards helping others.”
One of the things I love about Mike is his overwhelmingly positive outlook on life. He had spent seven years of his life working on the path to priesthood only to have it ripped out from under him because a part of his identity was, according to some, inherently “wrong.” This could have caused irreparable damage. But Mike took it in a stride. Adapting to meet the challenges of life is a skill some never acquire. It is a part of Mike’s essential makeup.
“Otherwise you become stagnant. You stop evolving, you stop growing, you stop having a reason to be. I really believe we are here on this earth and this existence to become more than we walked on stage with. To do less is to not give credit to the gifts we’re given. You’ve got to do what you can. It’s how we move on to the next level, the next stage in our lives, (our) existences. I’m a strong believer in reincarnation. It’s how we become better spiritual people.”
Mike transferred what credits he could to a secular college and went on to graduate with a degree in counseling and clinical psychology. Fresh out of college and adjusting to the freedom and uncertainty of adulthood, he had no idea the hurdles life was preparing to throw at him. In the early days of the AIDS epidemic, no one could predict the coming storm.
1985 marks the first U.S. FDA licensed blood test for AIDS. Across the nation, blood banks began to test the blood supply and AIDS awareness slowly began to trickle into mainstream media. By 1986 Mike knew he needed to get tested, but back then it was not as easy as walking into a clinic and requesting a test. The only way he knew of was to try to donate blood. So he did. Two weeks later he received a letter in the mail. At that time, a positive HIV diagnosis was essentially a death sentence. There were no medications, no “cocktail.” Research was inconclusive and poorly funded. The letter from the blood bank basically said “you’re HIV positive: good luck with that.” There was not even an effort to inform, much less to follow-up: “There was a doctor’s name at the bottom so I called the office and basically took a day off work just to go up to see him for all of the five minutes he would give me to try to figure out what to do next. And there was nothing to do, he couldn’t even give me any names or resources of doctors to refer me to go see or anything like that. Nothing. All I had was what there was in the media to go on.”
What little media attention there was depicted a grave and terrifyingly short future. The CDC had just released a report about AIDS that put the mortality rate at or above 50% and gave newly diagnosed AIDS patients about 15 months to live. Mike figured he had about a year left. He could have chosen to give up and allow fear to overtake him. But in the face of terror, he chose life.
“No way I would have given up. It’s human nature to try and survive, and I don’t understand the giving up, that’s just not how I think. I’ve really tried my best to never see myself as a victim but as a person who can be a voice of honesty about illness and someone who can be a reliable source of information for others about HIV. It’s definitely had a large part in shaping my life.”
In the face of a one-year death sentence, Mike not only lived, but thrived for twelve years. Like the classic movie trope: boy meets boy, falls in love, life separates them, drama ensues. Boy follows his heart to Seattle and marries his beloved. Wedding bells rings, Mike and Brandon patiently wait fourteen years until their marriage is legal in the state of Washington (and seventeen years for the USA to acknowledge their union). And…we all live happily ever after. Except, AIDS is still lurking behind the curtain. By the time Mike started to experience symptoms, there were approved medications available for the treatment of AIDS. However, they were still toxic and had severe side effects. Between AIDS and the side effects of the treatment, Mike became too sick to work. Without a job, he was unable to pay his health insurance. Medical care became unaffordable. Thankfully, the gay community had tired of waiting for the government to provide federal funding or support for people with AIDS and had stepped up to care for its own. A band of volunteer organization, now known as the Lifelong AIDS Alliance, was established. The goal was to unite communities and provide lifesaving support to those affected by the AIDS crisis. Lifelong intervened and paid Mike’s insurance premiums, allowing his treatment to continue. Lifelong quite simply saved Mike’s life.
Mike began to feel better. Touched by the support he had received while sick, he jumped at the chance to give back to the organization that was there for him when he needed it the most. Being a natural caregiver and an extremely good cook, Mike joined the ranks of Linfelong’s Chicken Soup Bridge as a chef. The Chicken Soup Brigade began as a non-profit that provided practical support services for people with AIDS. Because of the immune-suppressing nature of AIDS, side effects were incredibly varied but always horrific and often completely debilitating. The Chicken Soup Brigade brought stability into affected households by bringing meals, walking dogs and taking care of various household chores. Finding joy in the world of non-profits, he stayed with the Chicken Soup Brigade for 15 years, advancing to manage the home delivery program, then supervising the food bank, and finally running the Chicken Soup Brigade itself. He quickly developed a passion for hunger advocacy. When he felt his time with the CSB had run its course, he put his experience to good use by working to provide nutritional security to the greater community. Mike believes a multi-service approach is the best way to combat poverty-based hunger. He has been a vocal advocate for the improvement of food assistance programs as well as for the collaboration of social assistance programs to better reach the underprivileged. We all dream of a career that goes beyond paying the bills, a career that allows for self-expression and bring personal joy. Mike has found and nurtured his dream in the world of “hunger justice.” He continues to run a major community food bank, FamilyWorks Seattle, to this day.
I’ve had a great life that lasted far longer than I thought it would. Every day has been a gift for me…
Mike’s creativity does not end when he goes home every day. Cooking is how he expresses himself, to the great joy and anticipation of all of us who benefit from his culinary exploits. But he is also a talented vocalist. Music is how Mike experiences community. “Music is not a solo thing for me. I’m far happier with music when I’m doing it with a group of people, and bringing a complete whole out of individual efforts.”
Which, truly, is the essence of choral music. Mike has been singing in choirs his entire life. He regularly performs with Twelfth Night Productions, a community theater in Seattle. Mike made it a point to tell me about the most important and beautiful musical work he has ever been involved in, a musical collection called NakedMan by Philip Little and Robert Seeley. The piece was commissioned for and originally performed by the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus, a group that lost over 200 members to AIDS. It tells the stories of the gay experience at that time. Lyrics and song weave through the coming-out experience, recounting the thrill of falling in love, and depicting the tragedy and terror of facing AIDS and death. It chronicles the desire to marry, achieve equality, and find self-acceptance.
After listening to the entire collection, I realize there is more to it than just individual voices coming together to make music. The reality is that gay men were demonized, diminished and dehumanized for decades, centuries (in many places they still are), and this musical work gives them a voice, an opportunity to proudly proclaim their existence, their humanity, their right to be happy. To join together, as a community, to proudly present themselves as their own fullest expression.
I asked Mike what the masterpiece of his life looks like, but before he could answer I cut him short, because there is something about that question that bothers me. You could very well call elements of his life a masterpiece; his fight to survive in the face of the most horrifying disease of the time, his work in the field of hunger justice, his journey of self-expression by feeding and nurturing those around him. The problem is “masterpiece” implies that he is done, ready to frame his story, hang it on the wall and step back. This is something he is in no way ready to do. So I rephrased my question, and instead asked him what the graffiti-on-the-wall, the ever-evolving, the utterly imperfect Banksy-style manifest of his life is. That’s a whole mouthful of words, and before I let Mike answer it, I’m going to take the writer’s liberty of giving my own two cents on the subject. mIke is a husband, a brother, an uncle, a friend. He is a fierce survivor, a loving caregiver. He is creative as hell, and incredibly funny. He gives the warmest of hugs, is endlessly kind, and takes no shit. He is unwavering in his beliefs, yet unafraid to adapt and evolve. He is his own fullest expression every day by proudly tackling the vulnerability of being true to himself and others. He is an inspiration to us all. He is loved and beloved. In his own words:
“You can’t give up. It doesn’t matter what life throws at you. You can’t just give up. There have been plenty of times in my life where I’d had enough reason to say “This is it, I can’t walk it any longer, I’ve got to stop.” But the fact is that if I’d stopped, I would have missed out on the most wonderful relationships I could have ever hoped for. The happiness I’ve found in being able to create, through cooking and singing. The joy and absolute humbling feeling of being able to help others who are in need. I would have never been able to experience any of that if I’d stopped when major hurdles came up in my life. I’ve had a great life that has lasted far longer than I thought it would. Every day has been a gift for me, and that’s the way I’ve got to look at it. I don’t know if that’s a masterpiece, but that’s the single thing that stands out about my whole philosophy for how I live, that’s me.”
You can learn more about Seattle’s food security at www.familyworksseattle.org, and can contact Mike at mike@familyworksseattle.org