Dear Blog Readers

She’s not going to make it.

As recently as last week, she was happy.

Then, Sunday (it was a beautiful day, and self had spent almost the entire weekend gardening) cousin in Virginia told self: “Did you hear? Your mother’s left for Tel Aviv with Franco.”

Self immediately got on the phone to Tel Aviv, to Ying, and Ying herself picked up. But something was wrong. Her voice sounded funny. “I’m in a lot of pain,” she said. “I can’t talk.”

Yesterday, self tried again. This time, Dear Bro picked up. He was very careful, parsing his words. He doesn’t want to tell me, self thought. He doesn’t want me falling apart on him.

All yesterday, self’s neck ached terrifically. She wore her rosary beads, her silver crucifix. She went to bed at 10 and got up at 12:30, 1:30, 3:15, and finally at 5:15 she stayed up because she had an 8 a.m. class to teach.

Right after teaching her class, self rushed home and called Ying’s cell. Dear Bro again picked up.

“What’s the plan?” self asked.

“There is no plan,” Dear Bro said. “There’s not much time.”

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