Since I’m technically still unemployed and working only when I feel like it (mostly on freelance writing stuff), I’ve had more free time in the last three months literally than I’ve ever had.

Though I berate myself for not going more often, I’ve spent some time volunteering at the Utah AIDS Foundation. I’m currently on the board of trustees (pretty much the only residual from my previous TV life) and have been involved in one way or another since 1997, but these past few months I’ve had much more contact with clients receiving services from the Foundation and it’s been fascinating. The clients are always interesting and usually fun. My time there is often hopeful and yes, sometimes sad—for all the reasons you’d expect.

The Utah AIDS Foundation has a special “memorial room,” which I think is a great idea. It’s a very small room, but powerful. Every few weeks I tag along with a group on a facility tour, just to remind myself why I’m there and to get reacquainted with all the programs, but I only tour that room once a year or so. I can’t handle it emotionally any more often.

The memorial room has a Names Project quilt panel on the wall (the Names Project is itself an incredible experience) and some belongings left to the Foundation in wills and such, but the truly difficult part is the stacks of photo albums, each one carefully organized and stuffed full of obituaries.

Since about 1990, when a Foundation staffer had the idea, the staff has collected every obituary of an AIDS victim and preserved it in these photo albums. There are a few cards mixed in dedicating a donation to a loved one gone, or sometimes a scrap of paper with a name and death date for someone who didn’t get an obituary. Every once in a while, there’s a letter or photograph, too. The most striking thing, of course, is how many there are. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of young men and a few women. And these are just the ones somebody remembered. Trust me—there are dozens that were, unfortunately, forgotten.

As best I can tell, Geoffrey was pretty much forgotten. The executive director of the Utah AIDS Foundation let me borrow Geoffrey’s journal. It was somehow left to the organization, whether it was specifically left to them in a will, or merely dropped off in a box of stuff that a landlord had no place else to take, I don’t know. Nobody really remembers anymore.

I read Geoffrey’s journal a few months ago, and beginning tomorrow I’m going to share it with all of you over the next few weeks. My own entries will continue sporadically, just like always, but some days’ posts will have Geoffrey’s entries too. Some days may be only Geoffrey. We’ll see. When this is all done, the “Geoffrey” category archive will have his entire journal, uninterrupted by my ramblings. I expect I’ll edit only for spelling and maybe punctuation, but even that will be rare. Geoffrey writes very well, and he had beautiful handwriting. He didn’t miss a single day, either, always writing exactly one full page—except for the very last entry.

By the way, I’ve thought a lot about doing this, and I don’t think I’m doing anything inappropriate. Feel free to let me know if you feel otherwise. Obviously, the journal’s not copyrighted and I’m not making any money here. In the unlikely event that anybody feels compelled to give money because of what Geoffrey says, you can send it directly to the Utah AIDS Foundation.

The journal has an interesting perspective because Geoffrey, whom I assume from what I read was a gay man, became a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (yep, Mormon) right before beginning the journal, but other than that it’s not really unique. I’m pretty sure, however, that if you stick with me and read it all, you’ll get something out of it. I know I did.

I’m not sharing it for you though, not really. I’m sharing it because last week, I couldn’t find Geoffrey’s obituary in the albums. I can’t find an obituary under his name anywhere in local newspaper archives. I can’t find a single person who knew Geoffrey or remembers anything about him other than what’s in the journal. Geoffrey, it seems, really has been forgotten.

But hopefully not anymore.