Growing up in Cleveland in the early 1990’s, I watched my mother, Nita S. Steele, move through the AIDS epidemic with a kind of courage and tenderness that still shapes me today. I was young and did not understand why her friends kept disappearing, but she did. She understood the epidemic long before our systems did, and she carried that knowledge with a heart big enough to hold both grief and responsibility. She never taught me to fear people living with HIV or AIDS. She taught me to fear ignorance. She taught me to fear the silence that keeps families from seeking help. She taught me to respect safety without abandoning compassion. She explained potential exposures calmly, clearly, and with love. My mother was offering public health education before those words were ever familiar to me. She was building the blueprint that Save Our Families now moves with.

In 2025, our family lost a dear friend who lived more than thirty years with HIV. His life was proof of what access truly does. Programs like the Ryan White HIV/AIDS Program helped sustain his health, his joy, his presence in the world. Without that support, he would not have had the chance to turn decades into memories we still hold close. Programs like those are not optional. They are life-saving infrastructure. They determine who gets the opportunity to survive. Now, many of those same programs face funding cuts.
When I think about World Aids Day, I think about the homes where loss broke open in the early nineties. I think about the friends my mother buried. I think about the conversations she had late at night, the quiet strength she carried, and the way she refused to let stigma define anyone’s humanity. I think about our family friend who lived for decades because someone fought for his access to care.

This day is not symbolic for us. It is a reminder that policy shapes lives. Funding decisions ripple through neighborhoods. Access either extends life or shortens it. There is nothing theoretical about it. Save Our Families carries that understanding into every piece of our work. Public health is not just our mission. It is our lived history. Our commitment to education, access, and community protection comes directly from the lessons my mother planted in me long before I had the language for this work. To those living with HIV today: we honor you. To the families who have walked this path: we stand with you. To those we’ve lost: we carry your names forward with respect.

Lastly, to my mother, whose heart still guides mine: thank you. You showed me that care is not a gesture. It is a discipline. It is leadership. It is love in motion. I move with that every day.
With gratitude, memory, and unwavering commitment,

Kristy F. Steele
President and Founder
Save Our Families