Three years ago I got a call saying my father was dying. He was half a world away in Jakarta and dying. I almost didn’t answer the phone—my father never called me from Jakarta, only messaged. But I did, I answered the phone. And my father was dying. My mind raced as I tried to make sense of the information coming my way: there is nothing more they could do. “There’s no time for you to come here. He might be able to hear you. Say your goodbye. We’ll let you know when he’s gone.” 

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