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“I am flying back to Taiwan tomorrow afternoon. Uncle told me that Grandpa is not doing good and the doctor now gives him around 1-2 weeks to live. Although we had known it coming for two years, it is still hard to take it. I am sad.”
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I tell everyone before I leave that I am excited for this trip. “It’ll be good to see family,” I repeat. But there’s nothing I can do to help him. There’s nothing I can do to make it better. Or make it less bad. Or change anything. The space behind my sternum feels thick and weighty when I think about this.