The Diary of Antoine Roquentin

I got an envelope full of insane letters from Grammie, my grandma in California that has dementia. She’s been in the facility about as long as I’ve been in New York, about seven months. These letters are so off-base, in them she writes she’s been there for five years. God knows how she managed to send this letter, it was sealed with masking tape and used a hodgepodge of stamps.

Transcription follows:

“Please excuse my shaky writing but I am too hopeful now leaving this place — I do not believe I am registered but I never get a chance to leave — closely watched — all these people are the same — no other church — I have to stay in room — do have private bedroom — constantly watched by them. Please help me — I am a Christian Scientist but get little time to study — books were taken.

My name is Barbara Susan Abbott — my home which I have not been in for 5 years — I was in their place — I do have family in that home [the address]. One son next door — he is not a Christian Scientist but put in the church where he put me. The sons live there — home occasionally — but they are not allowed to see me although they are both graduated into college thanks to me.”

The sad thing is that this was sent to her old house, which has already been sold. The only reason I got this letter is the postal service forwarded it to me at my new address.

I sure wish I had graduated from college “thanks to her,” but my dad sold her house for $300,000 and told me on the phone today he isn’t going to pay for anything after next semester. Thanks, assholes. If that’s true, I’m changing my last name to my mother’s sooner rather than later.

There are six notes altogether written on different scraps of paper. Feel free to peruse them on flickr.

This one was the coup de grâce, written on the back of a photo of me and Grammie at my high school graduation:

“Remember so happy

[the existing text on the back of the photo, Barbara + Arthur '03]

We were happy once — I tried my best — now my best is prison because of you! But remember. You will pay the price and it is very awful — especially alone like you are always.”

In the conversation with my dad, he said that she was the sanest person in the lockdown ward, which must feed her delusions that she is still sane. Still, Grammie’s former boyfriend will take her out to lunch but she doesn’t know what she wants to order, can’t read the menu—and the next day she doesn’t remember going. Dementia is a disease I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. You become nothing—an empty host of memories of a life you can never return to.

Some were short and sweet, this one addressed to my dad’s name:

[Dad's name]
Trying to take care of you it was and is very difficult.

I do love you — but I would guess you do not have a happy life.

She’s probably right. I can’t imagine anything that gives my dad joy.

Some of the notes are long rambling affairs with tons of details jotted down everywhere, like this one:

Sunday – I am there with breakfast with ill people.

Only place I am allowed— I still am not ill not for all these years — please let me go home — I could be ill from all these god says no But says no

Please get me out —all I want Please is my home and family — please

I want to go to my home — please — I will be good

Building I am in the room for south — of Bldg — I am

I am retired employee about 6 yrs and I was only ill one time —years ago — short time.

I have not been in this Church since last June — I have had no illnesses — for all this time, I am put in room of all ill such handicapped men and women — we breakfast lunch and dinner all in the same room — I still have had no illness but I do have to stay in this room most of the time.

It looks like I will have to stay there for life please help.

After I read this one, I started to cry. Especially at “I will be good.” She knows, even now, that there really is something wrong with her, but she doesn’t have the cognition to know exactly what. Sometimes I wish the cancer had taken her, then we could have grieved and moved on. This is worse than death. So much worse than death could ever be. I’m supposed to be going to dinner, and yet I’m crying—I never thought I’d be wishing for someone to die just to put an end to their misery. No one deserves this. After all the horrible things she did to me and Kelly as children, she doesn’t deserve this life—dead but alive, alive but dead.

I don’t know what to do.

We’ve just got to keep going. Wash off the tears in the downstairs bathroom, go up for dinner. Don’t think.