Over this past year, my grandma’s memory has begun to blot out. My mother was the first to inform me, warning me over the phone that I should not act alarmed if my grandma lost her train of thought, or if she began speaking to me in Mandarin. When I speak with her on the phone, our conversations rarely last over five minutes. My questions seem to strain her, and she has no new questions for me except for when I am coming home, if I am safe, if I have enough to eat. When I do come home, I find her frailer, stubborn, still insistent on driving even though we ask her not to because she no longer
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