This book isn't long, but I'm a little surprised I got through it. I haven't been able to read much about PARENT DEATH and, even worse, MOM HAS CANCER since my mom was diagnosed in 2014. I won't pretend this is a neutral review. I found myself battered by this book more than simply moved. When I relate really closely to the author of a memoir it makes me weirdly resentful towards them sometimes. I see myself and I don't like it, I guess. Or I feel the need to compete: "I'll feel lucky if my mom lives as long as her mom!" I find myself thinking. Of course you shouldn't take your parents for granted, I find myself thinking, obsessively, until I realize that the comment is just directed at myself. I can't say what someone might feel about this from a detached perspective, I won't try. Overall, I really like Nicole Chung and I respect and admire this book. I also hated it deeply sometimes. Like she was writing about me and got the details all wrong. I guess that's how you know it's good?