In early 2001, my sister was tired, paler than usual. We didn’t think much of it. Then, months passed, and crimson pinpoints appeared on her skin. My brother and I took turns grasping her arm and snickering as our handprints would appear as red dots just a few minutes later. Symptoms amassed silently, but on my ninth birthday in May, something big happened. I remember hearing words like “low blood count” spoken ...

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It is easy to feel the gravity that accompanies the act of caring for those whose souls are still stuck to the surface of the earth. Their nerves still feel. Their skin still bleeds. Their eyes blink, and their hearts beat. Their chests rise and fall and rest for a moment before this rhythm repeats. They cry when poked and, sometimes, ask if they are going to live or die, ...

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