Hello again with a similar kind of topic.
This one though is a diary again but this one is the entry of an old man who lives now a isolated, forgotten life in an old age home. And is spending his days by talking to his notebook for he don’t have anyone else to share thoughts with.
I have stopped to notice the dates and now that they have bells and people to remind me of my meals and medicines, I don’t notice time as well.
It’s hurting how each day, date and minute can remind you of something and someone. Shelly used to tease me for this, asking what I remember of certain day or time and whenever she’d do that, I’d give her at least five options to choose from and then will narrate her story of the time. Oh how much I miss you Shelly, how much I miss you.
It’s not that now I remember only the sad memories given by time, I have a treasure of happy ones too; thousands of them, but almost all of them include either you or our children or both. Amazing and terrible it is that how something even nice and fair can make you cry in grief. Oh, you’d be surprised how even the memories of our children make me sad. Even with me ignoring the time and days, things remind me of moments of past. Moments of happiness, of fun, of promises. How Adam asked me to never leave him when he scraped his knee falling in the park and I did promise. And now I wish I should have asked for the same in return so maybe he would have thought before leaving me here.
But I shouldn’t complain, should never complain. He did this for my own good. With him and his wife working, who would have taken care of me? And anyways, he doesn’t know how they treat us old people here or he wouldn’t have left me like this. But I wish he’d visit me sometime, tight schedule he have though.
Here goes the bell of the second meal. I better hurry or there will only be the scrapes left for me. On short notice, I won’t be writing anymore though I’d love to continue. This was the last page of the notebook and when I asked manager to get me another one he said my spending haven’t arrived yet. Well, I have a lot of time here so I’ll wait, yes, wait I will.
P.S. Shelly is the wife of the old man.