Remembering Lynn Chamberlain: Reflecting on one of my life's biggest regrets.

It’s amazing how we meet some people in our lives, move on (loosing contact), and never know how much their life’s journey has or will impact our lives someday. And in turn, they’ll never know how much their lives have inspired ours.

". . . unbearably warm is what it was." One of those uncomfortable, Alabama summer mornings—the ones where sweat pours down your back while standing in the shade. It was the very first day, of many weeks, of that way too early PhysEd class for new Tuskegee University students. And as I scoped out the crowd with my sidekick Chris P., my eyes landed on this attractive, dark-skinned sister with a short haircut wearing this purple sweat-suit with a matching, colorful, purple scarf tied around her neck—dressing it up a bit. There was something intriguing (to me) about her. When you looked at her, your mind would go, Mmmm. When you spoke to her, you would think, okay, intelligent and classy. And when you got to know the real Lynn Chamberlain, you knew the girl was going places. She's going to make it big one day, I told myself; but I also knew there was a hidden agenda and we teased her about it—she was looking for her husband.

Fast-forward several months. In the middle of the academic year, Chris had moved back to New York and at the end of the school year I had transferred out too; the three of us going our separate ways, losing contact.

Eight years later, my degree on the wall, I was living (well, more like happily struggling) in Atlanta, Georgia. On one particular night, I was flipping through the TV channels as I did little odds and ends around the apartment and stumbled across the Essence Awards; Halle Berry and Sinbad were hosting which drew me in. Not too soon afterwards, I heard a familiar name that matched a familiar face, “What?!!" I yelled out, smiling. "Well I be damn! I knew that girl was going places!” And dropped everything to hear what good things Lynn and her mother (Marilyn) had done to land them on the Essence Awards of all places. But what followed wasn't anywhere close to what I had in mind. As a matter of fact, it tore me the hell up instead. I’ll never forget it! The whole experience forever engrained in my memory as her mother—in this strong yet pain stricken voice—emphatically told the Essence audience, “I wanted to kill him!” Chills flooded my chest as my heart dropped straight down to the pit of my stomach. “What?” I kept questioning. (Like the TV was going to answer me back.) “Lynn? Pretty ass Lynn from Tuskegee? H-I-V positive? Full blown AIDS?!"

Now, in a deep trance, I sat down on the arm of the sofa and shook my head in disbelief. My mind going back to those eighteen and nineteen year old Tuskegee kids who were smiling, laughing, and mapping out our lives. Recalling one of the last times Lynn and I spoke in the parlor of Tantum Hall (her dorm), munching on snacks she brought down from her room—she was going to pledge Delta Sigma Theta and I was going to pledge Alpha Phi Alpha. And if I hadn't mentioned it already, Lynn was drop . . . dead . . . gorgeous! 

Sitting in complete and utter disbelief (mumbling "damn, damn, damn" over and over as I stared at the TV), I didn’t move—not a flinch—until well after her mother’s tribute played out about her HIV/AIDS work and establishing Marilyn’s Manor (a house for HIV positive men and women) on Lynn's behalf. Now, I could see why Lynn talked about and admired her mother so much. And with the tribute mainly focused on her mother's HIV/AIDS philanthropy/social work, I really wanted to find out more about Lynn’s situation. How she was doing? How she was coping?

                                           

In the days that followed, I did my research and uncovered a journey I wouldn't have wished on my worst enemy and felt the need to reach out (I'm sure others from Tuskegee felt the same way as well). But how do you reach out to someone that you hadn’t spoken to in almost a decade? (Fear can be a terrible thing.) And a day didn’t go by that I didn’t think about Lynn's situation and reaching out to her. But with each passing day, I procrastinated (putting it off due to fear), and the need to reach out grew fainter, and fainter, until the days turned into weeks and weeks into months—my window of opportunity (in my opinion) closed. But knowing what I know now—the rough and courageous journey that she went through—not reaching out (however uncomfortable or uncertain the conversation would have been) has haunted me; becoming one of my life's biggest regrets.

I’m just glad—knowing and taking solace in the fact that in the end per media reports—Lynn found that person to share the remainder of her life's journey with; the husband we jokingly said she went to Tuskegee to find.

Lynn Chamberlain at Tuskegee University. Photo Credit: R.L. Byrd

Many of the articles about Lynn (and her mother) appear to be gone, but there are still some out there; here are two from the LA Times and one published posthumously from Hello Beautiful: 

1. LA Times: "A Tale of Triumph: She was a parent's dream. Church-goer, choir and college. Then they found she had AIDS. Together, mother and daughter forge a new path through the pain—and bring comfort to others along the way"
2. LA Times: "The Changing Face of AIDS: 'I Sat At Home For The Next Three Years Waiting to Die': Lynn Chamberlain, 25, Los Angeles"
3. Hello Beautiful: "Living With and Dying from HIV/AIDS (Chronic Diseases Series, Part 1)"

Author, R.L. Byrd