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The call came around 3 a.m.

"Your mum had a stroke," I heard my cousin in India say.

I crumpled to the floor. As I sat sobbing, he explained that she was in surgery and still critical. My mind swam with disbelief. Less than 24 hours ago, I had spoken to her over video chat. She'd been in high spirits singing to her new grandson — our daily morning ritual since his birth that April.

The most devastating thought crossed my mind: I might be going home to a funeral.

A week later I flew to Mumbai alone. It was too short a timeline to organize an emergency passport and visa for our little one. During the 17-hour flight, I repeatedly pumped and dumped breast milk in the airplane restroom, wracked with guilt over abandoning my infant son for three weeks. But my mother might die. I nee

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