I was this old before I remembered my father. Before, I didn’t know his name and had no memory of him. My mother never told me. In any case, she’s dead now. As she lay dying, I sat at her bed–side, tugging on her withered hand. The moonlight fell on her face and I really wanted her to tell me about stuff that happened outside the window. But until her last breath, she just kept repeating, “I’m going to die.” And then she did, looking as ...
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