It is the 14th anniversary of my brother's death. He was not quite 40 years old when he died due to complications from AIDS. He was a gay man living in an era when many families were learning more about homosexuality then they ever expected; an era when the mysterious and ravaging disease of AIDS was taking many lives.

The obituary columns were filled with names of men struck down by the disease but sometimes families were fearful of stating the cause of death. Many of us learned to read the cryptic obituaries and offered silent prayers for those we thought might be victims of the epidemic.

Fourteen years ago there were arguments over whether children should know about HIV and AIDS. It became a moral issue. Those who wanted the information kept out of schools accused others of being immoral because they wanted the children taught the facts.

It was a confusing time and in retrospect I understand that the confusion came out of fear. Many thought the HIV virus could be transmitted through a handshake or a sneeze. Initially, hospital patients diagnosed with the HIV virus were isolated and visitors were required to wear gowns and gloves. I remember well being afraid to wash my hands with a bar of soap at my brother's home for fear it might carry the virus. My sister confessed that she had worried when our brother wanted to hold her new baby.

And of course, many of us truly believed that this disease, AIDS, happened to others --- not us.

My family was no different. Upon hearing the diagnosis, which was essentially a death sentence in those days, we were shocked. Not us! Not our family!

My children were between the ages of 4 and 17. We explained to the oldest two what was happening and told the other three that Uncle Mark was sick with something like cancer. The youngest ones did not need any more information than this; in time, as they got older we would explain further. However, the youngest daughter, a pre-teen at the time, eventually told us she knew and wondered why we did not tell her the truth. It was a mistake that came from our own uncertainties.

It was a terribly difficult time. Not only was a beloved family member dying, but his illness was socially suspect in many circles. I was seldom bothered by the skeptics and sometimes even wondered what my reaction might be if I was not personally involved. It is amazing how an experience forms one's thinking.

Our children were as unsure as the adults on how to handle what was happening. They watched and listened to the adults as they adapted to living with this new disease called AIDS. They learned tolerance and the power of unconditional love. And they quietly shared the story of their uncle with friends and teachers. As they got older they were able to help others going through a similar experience.

When my brother died, there was the usual numbness and shock. Even though his illness had been protracted and he had suffered a great deal, we did not want him to go. He had become quite thin, losing his hair and looking at least 20 years older than he actually was, but he kept his spirit intact. It seemed he always had an ironic thought to add to any conversation and he shared some of them in his last few weeks. We, of course, laughed and cried and felt that intense pain every family feels when one of their own dies before their time.

Few families who lost someone to AIDS during this era came through the ordeal without changing. The importance of honesty and the genuineness of the struggle helped them grow and apply the lessons learned to other situations.

However, there are those who are still conflicted and confused by everything that happened back then. It is likely they suffer in silence. Remember them in your prayers.

Anne Hansen is a parent education consultant and a parishioner at Blessed Junípero Serra Church, Camarillo. Her e-mail address is familymail@aol.com.