I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve such an honor, but this week I got two letters from my grandmother with dementia.
DISCLAIMER: Nothing in these letters are real, it’s her delusions. I’ll try to elucidate what’s wrong in editor’s notes. I don’t know what to do with these letters other than to post them. Maybe that’s the only way I can process it.
Some were absolutely incoherent, like this mess:
Go to bank — I am send message. Get one of girls to get to attorney —
1. Change the bank account — change to another bank if no change at that bank.
2. Change — My Bank Account to me [her name] to just mine. how much is there monthly Call Orrin [her boyfriend] if — Keep same payments — except what is Anton’s — my name and yours if they won’t accept just my acct — I will get to bank from here if I can’t I will [authorize?] some-one else — my sister or ?
And then there are ones that sound almost lucid, like this one:
(front)
(back)
Dear Anton,
Such a long time I know—however, my son [my dad] has put me in prison as a sick person.—this is my second year for this [she's only been there six months] and I have not one anything—I have not been ill—at all—not even a sniffle [the obsession with sickness is a remnant of Christian Scientist teaching which doesn't believe in disease or seeing doctors] but they—the place I am in doesn’t care as they get the money—which [my dad] pays for from my money—every person in here is ill but I have not had one ounce of illness and I am locked in my small room I do get out for the meals—this is my second year—no one will help me—none of my family no doctors—I have not seen a doctor ever [she had cancer, and did chemo, that's the only reason she's alive] —I hope all the others who are sick—I should be the nurse—hopefully I will escape this year but I do need a place to go—as I got away before and they found me at my house (about a block away. Keep your prayers going for me—I am very healthy and active so don’t worry about that—I will find a place to go—but it is very crowded now[.]
I hope things are well with you—do not mention anything about me if you write me they read everything before the patient can see them—if not urgent for them the patient does not get it—I hope all is well with you—no address here so good luck—I would love to see you[.]
There were a few more in that envelope postmarked January 9, 2010, mostly papers with tons of things vaguely about the family but not making any sense scrawled all over them.
I can’t read the postmark on the second letter, but it was sent in January and arrived a few days later. She filled a whole page front and back with text, and a smaller note. The small note was the most (and least) lucid one I had read so far.
Hi Anton,
forgive me for sending the report about your brother. I don’t know what I did to him to make him hate me so—and all the mean things he does constantly.
It is so good to hear from you and I am so proud of you-come and see me anytime—I would love that-I am here 24 hours a day
My room is number 110. Love you—can’t wait to see you and your family—you can use my house to stay in—I don’t think anyone is there[.]
Love, Mom
Doesn’t this one seem totally rational? There are a number of problems. First, it’s very unclear who this letter is actually to. My dad and I have the same name, so I’m assuming in the beginning that it’s to me because she mentions the “mean things he does constantly” and she’s very angry at my dad for putting her in the home. However, I don’t have a brother, and my grandma isn’t my mom.
So if you interpret it the other way that it’s to my dad, then who’s the brother? My only uncle died two years ago, so there’s really no logical way to parse this. Possibly she’s writing to some combination of my father and I in her mind. That’s the real terror of dementia— that an outsider could read this letter and think it was written by someone with full control of their faculties. You know, when I first got that letter she sent for my birthday it brought me to tears, mostly because she was begging to be set free almost with the voice of a child. These seem to be almost loving.
She mentions her house in the last line “I don’t think anyone is there.” The house was sold last year.
The majority of the letters either don’t make sense or are kind of positive in a weird way. I guess maybe I should feel good that she’s writing me even if she really has no idea what she’s saying or who I am. It’s clear from these that she really does love my dad and I, but is totally baffled about her situation. I wish I could go see her. I need to buy my tickets to go to California soon.
Categories: Ennui
