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The Flowers of May

Dad's favorite places to go were the churches. Dear Reader (or the Nancy a decade from now), I saw how my dad died—an iron-muscled hero with the strongest will to live and the sincerest display of faith in God until his last breath. It was May 12, 2021, past 4 p.m. The sun was probably petulant about setting down and the world outside was probably just as cranky about being curried by the heat. But on that afternoon, I was not part of the outside world. I was trapped in a sphere bordered by the four walls of the room on the seventh floor of Chong Hua Hospital. In that sphere, all I could see was my father. Here was the man who carried cases of beer and soft drinks for more than 35 years, from propelling a two-wheeled pushcart to deliver to houses blocks away to driving an elf truck to get fresh supplies from another barangay. Here was the man who carried me several times growing up from the sofa in our living room where I would fell asleep while reading to my bedroom a few mete

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