I met Jody on Sunday, June 28, 1987. An early morning thunderstorm had chased away a prolonged period of heat and humidity and left behind an azure blue sky. It was at the Dance on the Pier that followed the annual Heritage of Pride March in New York City. While waiting to meet up with friends, I saw a tall, smiling, young man walking toward me. “Hi, I’m Jody,” he said. “I’m Ed,” I replied. That was the start of a relationship that persevered for thirty-three years.

Over the next few weeks and months, we got to know about each other. We laughed because, in so many ways, we were opposites. Jody was born in Florida and raised in Texas. I came from Massachusetts. Jody was always spur of the moment while I always wanted things to be planned out in advance. I valued promptness while Jody figured we would get there when we got there. There were so many ways we were different. But it was those differences that glued us together.

During those first two months together, I noticed that when we were walking together, Jody would frequently veer off toward the left. He also started to complain of blind spots in his field of vision. He underwent many tests and several months later he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Within two years, the MS had progressed to the point where he needed to use a wheelchair full-time. Throughout the rest of his life, he promised that he would walk again. He exercised daily to keep his legs strong. His determination is one of the things I miss about Jody. When he set his mind to something, he accomplished it.

Another aspect of Jody that was so endearing was his love of animals. Around the time he was diagnosed with MS, one of his neighbors had beaten a young cat, broken its pelvis and dumped it in the hallway of Jody’s apartment building. Jody found the cat, which he named Quito, and nursed her back to health. They were forever bonded and when she passed many years later Jody was crushed. I think they had been destined for each other at a time they both needed someone.