Brief 'diary entries'.
March. 05. 1974.
I know I started these entries a while ago, and for my age it’s silly. But I guess I write these for a reason. Just in case one day I wake up and I don’t remember anything anymore. I’ve seen it happen. People that I’ve once loved and they’ve loved me, just gone. They don’t remember. My wife went that way. One day she woke up and didn’t remember anything. She looked at me like a stranger. She screamed at me. We’d have been married thirty-five years to this day...if she remembered. I saw her earlier today, my heart aching at what we’ve lost. What she’s lost. I can’t bring myself to file for a divorce. She doesn’t remember being married, so why would she need a divorce? She looks down at me now, not a word to this stranger. This stranger she shares a child and two grandchildren with. I can’t force her to remember, but I can leave her in peace. The nurse reckons she has less than a year left, so best leave her be and remember the years of cherished memories on my own. I was lucky to have met her, I always thought I might loose her...but not like this.
June. 02. 1974.
I don’t think I’ll loose my memory. I’ve always been as fit as a fiddle. Doctors tell me it could still happen. So I keep writing this journal. Keeping my mind fit, so that the void of memory doesn’t take over the full memories I love the most. One of my favourites is when I took my late wife to the prom. I gave her a rose at the door. She looked up at me with her beautiful brown eyes, sparkling with a few tears. She kissed me right there, in front of her folks. That was the first time she ever kissed me. She’ll never kiss me again. She’s kissing the angels up in heaven now. I wonder if she’ll remember me there?
January. 14. 1975
I don't feel the same anymore. I have to take more pills now. My skin feels baggier. I feel like i've lost the one thing holding me to this planet. I have to keep fighting now. I still have my child and my grand-children. I can't give up yet. As long as I keep breathing, I am still living...right? I'll see them again next week. They'll talk about my love again. The pain it brings me. But I must go on. These memories are precious...though every day I fear I wear them out. With every recollection, the thought gets a little bit more faded.
December. 21. 1975.
The doctors tell me I have to write in this journal. It looks like another patient has been writing in this journal. Did he die? Is that why I’ve gotten this to write in? They could have given me a fresh journal at least! The doctors made me see some younger people today. They knew my name and insisted we were related. I couldn’t remember them. I think they were lying. Why would they want to hurt a lonely old man? They must have wanted my money.
February. 01. 1976.
I don’t see why I have to write in this journal. The doctors say it’ll help my memory, but I don’t need any help. All these memories in here are another persons. It’s just cruel to make me think that all of these wonderful memories are mine when they belong to a man sleeping with the worms. This is the last I’ll write in this stinking journal. They can’t force me to write. I may be old, but I’m still a human being God dammit.