Oblivion

I´m learning to read and write and I like to do it on my own. All help is very welcome

Dear Fran,

we just come back from the residential home. This place has a beautiful garden and its installations are bright and clean with a loving and competent personal who look after of my lady´s sister. Because she has been living there for a few years.

      This evening they have had a tea party with loads of cakes, sponge cakes and mantecados, coffee and tea too. Elderly people have enjoyed a lot. They have sung Christmas carols and they have given a Christmas card to their relatives. But it´s not always like this.

      Mi señora goes to see her once a month, at times twice. The residential home is not in our town, it´s almost forty kilometres apart from we live.

      Some of them do not recognize their daughters.

      There is a man who was playing paddle six months ago. He is one of the youngest. Now he is in struggle to walk. Mi señora has me told there is an incredible cases. A man asks his wife that she calls his old girlfriend, and when she asks him who is she, the man does not answer, then he takes an old photography out of his pocket and pinpoints a couple of newlyweds. The photo is yellowish and damaged. The bride is she, the groom is he.

      Some of them do not recognize their husbands.

      This is an illness that equals everyone. It does not matter if you are illiterate or professor; does not matter if you are poor or rich.

      You will see some in a wheelchair, others in zimmer frame, lots carrying sticks when you go to this establishment. At the same time you can observe a woman (80) who is close the door because ‘her father is waiting for her’.

      My lady´s sister has been, alternatively, living in the house of her son, one month, and in the daughter´s house, another month, but she is on her last legs and they are working, they have their own activities and they cannot stop what they are doing to take care of her.

      Some of them do not recognize their homes.

The Fisherman´s Mother by Helen M Trevor

      They remember the street, the house where they lived in long time ago, years ago; however the dining room where they eat in, the bedroom where they sleep in, the living room where they watch tv in, they are not their dining room, nor their bedroom nor their living room. These creatures lost the most important a person has: their own consciousness. Some of them do not recognize themselves. Is there something crueller?

      Y. a.

      Mary