Earlier today in a review of a story about a person who suffered bedsores, I mentioned to the author I had a young friend who died of AIDS, and when I drove her elderly mother to the nursing home a few times a week to visit her in her dying months, I saw the kind of bedsores she had described, the ones that eat away clear to the bone and leave gaping holes. This author asked me if I had ever written about my friend's death. I have not until now.
This young woman in her early 30's was far from a saint in so many ways, but she would make me laugh so hard when I took her to the Chinese buffet restaurant and she tried to crack open crab legs. She loved books and she loved my little daughter, and her mother loved her fiercely. I know there are quite a few people who believe AIDS is a divine punishment for the sins of people who make choices like hers. I cannot be one of them.

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