Last December, on New Year’s Eve, I got a phone call in the middle of the night. “It’s your grandmother,” my mom said, “she’s in the ICU.” My grandma has been battling Parkinson’s Disease (PD) for more than eight years. Last summer was the first time I had seen her in five years. Throughout our time apart, her powerful voice in our phone calls had painted an illusion of her old self in my head, and I was not prepared for the reality of her physical deterioration. As I sprinted towards the subway station, cold air scraping against my face like blades, I felt my rose-tinted mirage disintegrate with each passing exhalation.
“Her... (read 4010 more words →)