Dear Anyone,

The first time I met you was through a screen. I didn’t see you in person until I was 12. Every other year, we would fly back, collect red envelopes, and eat dinner together. Back then, it didn’t feel very significant to me.

As the years passed, we started visiting more often. I didn’t understand why at the time, but it was because your health was getting worse.

When I was 13, your speech began to deteriorate. We would sit with you as you mumbled, your words no longer making sense. The dinners stopped because you needed a feeding tube. The moments that once felt ordinary had quietly disappeared.

The following year, we went back again. At first, I was just excited to return and eat the food I had missed. But when we arrived, everything felt different. You didn’t greet us at the door anymore. There were no yearly gifts waiting for us. You just sat there, barely acknowledging that we were there.

You tried so hard to remember our names, but within seconds, they slipped away again. Each time we reminded you, you grew frustrated, even hitting yourself in the face out of anger. Watching that broke something in me.

I remember going into the bathroom to grab a tissue, trying to hide my tears. My sister and my mom came in shortly after, doing the same. None of us said anything.

After we left, the car ride home was silent.

Even though I never built a close relationship with you or spent everyday moments together, it still hurt deeply to see you like that.