Crimson opinion writer
As the years inch on and we move further away from the start of the AIDS epidemic, we risk remembering only statistics. But numbers cannot communicate the personal nature of loss. What’s missing from the equation is grief and loneliness: love with nowhere to go but to a beneficiary six feet underground or sitting on a mantle.
When I put myself in the shoes of the woman sitting atop the fig tree, I see so many things I want to accomplish. Sylvia Plath would have been 90 years old if she was still alive today. How much more could she have done with all of that time? Here’s to you, Sylvia, and your fig tree.