What makes me most sad is that when I think about my Dad during his last days, he wanted to fight so badly for the chance to live. He was ready to go through the pain and discomfort of struggling for air if it meant that he could stay longer. But his body wouldn't let him do it, it gave out. And then, there's my sister, who's body is clinging to the chance, trying its damnedest to give her something to fight for, and yet she just doesn't even try.
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