But due to his health issues, my brother remained unemployed at home—no company would hire him.
The money I sent home, Dad would always try to send some of it back, but I never took it.
Over the years, my parents were quite attentive to me.
I understood their plight—my brother's illness made them look much older than their peers.
This time, he went abroad for treatment, thanks to a relative's introduction.
They had found a top-notch doctor who might have a cure.
When my brother called from overseas, his voice was soft. He'd ask if I was okay, and if I had enough to get by.
Even when I only had 1,000 dollars left after sending him money for treatment, I'd assure him I was fine, just got a bonus.
But his calls started to become less frequent.
Months would pass without a word from him.
My parents would only mention that his condition was unstable and the doctors advised rest.
His sudden passing seemed to shatter my parents.
Their red, swollen eyes before they boarded the plane tore me apart.
"Mom, don't worry about the money, just focus on getting there."
The cost of funerals abroad was staggering, and when they mentioned it, they seemed embarrassed.