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You wrote about your counselors, about the people at the clinic, and—after a certain point—friends that were invited into that helping circle.

That was also a surprise, to realize just how much help help could be. Lots of us don't ask for help in difficult situations because we think, What difference will it make? They can't make the bad situation go away. So, why should I ask for help, won't it just be exposing and embarrassing and messy and unhelpful?

Since the situation could not be changed, what were the most helpful things that happened out of other people's concern?

Most of us when we face a difficult circumstance are frightened and we sort of freeze. We think that our first inclination in terms of response must be the best and only response. And if that doesn't work, we just do more of it or we give up.

The most helpful thing was having people around who had a broader perspective and more experience and were more flexible and were willing to say, Now what if we tried this?

And it was good to have that safety net around us where we didn't have to feel like if we didn't hang on for dear life with knuckles clenched, that there wouldn't be anyone to hold us together. There were lots of people to help hold us together so we could spend more of our energy really trying to face up to it and cope together.

One thing I learned from our talking together with the social worker and the counselor was that it's not that the counselor solves your problem, but that the counselor is sort of in charge of the situation so that you can let go of the being in charge part and connect with each other or do whatever else it is you need to do to get to the next point.

One theme of your book is openness and privacy about difficult matters. It's one thing to deal with professionals, like the social worker and the counselor, but what about family and friends?

We had as long a history with our families as anybody else does and as many odd things going on in those relationships as anybody does. And we were not terribly open with our families.

We wanted to be more so than we really were. We took both families into the clinic at a couple of points, with the idea that people there would help facilitate conversation. But our families weren't quite up for that.

Various of our friends really did become a part of our lives—and especially after Hyung Goo's death. I spent a lot of time behaving in socially inappropriate ways, just crying everywhere all of the time. And there were times at least when it was refreshing for all of us, because those social barriers would keep us from actually showing what we feel and showing what we need and appreciating it when it's given. Those barriers fell away, and it was a good thing.

Openness and bearing one another's burdens is a two-way street. You have to be willing to let people see enough of your stuff that they can be there to help. But they have to be willing to look at it. And often both of those pieces aren't there. But they were there frequently for us. And it was a really good thing.

This is something I sorrow over with my students, because I get the sense that they haven't had too many experiences where they were able to be honest with themselves and others about what was really going on and find ears that were willing to hear and hearts that were willing to be open.

It's hard to listen to somebody who's really hurting or facing a challenge that you can't fix. It feels like if you can't just fix it then you can't do anything, and so you just don't want to help.

You devote half a chapter to saying that the church needs a different vocabulary for talking about HIV/AIDS. What would that sound like?

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August (Web-only) 2003, Vol. 47