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Amma, it’s been exactly a week…
A week since I made a choice I never thought I would. A choice I can’t fully explain, a pain I can’t put into words. I endured more than I ever thought possible. The tube they inserted from my nose to my stomach, the isolation, the silence—no phone, no way to reach you. I lay there staring at the ceiling, then at the window, watching people walk by, each with a phone in their hands. I wished, just once, someone would lend me theirs so I could call you and tell you, “Amma, I’m okay.” But you weren’t there that day, Amma. And I cried. I cried more than I ever have. I needed you. If only you knew. If only I had told you sooner.1
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