When I was younger, he visited often; I saw him often. But now health conditions keep him on the other side of the world, where he needs to get dialysis three times a week. His dialysis keeps him alive, but it also keeps him from us. Now, I only see him once a year. A taxi inevitably draws nearer and nearer then slows to a stop. The taxi driver gets out and my dad helps him pile the luggage into the trunk while I stand there awkwardly, a stone stuck in my throat. The last suitcase is hauled…

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