Letter by Ayya Al Badr

Posted on March 12, 2012 by


Dear memory,


I’m writing to you in a desperate attempt to try and understand you. I don’t understand your basis on choosing what to cling on to and what to permanently let go of. I don’t understand why you oftentimes find it humorous to fail me when I need you the most. I don’t understand why you sometimes leave me unable to recognize my dog, my daughter’s sad eyes, or the reason my husband chokes up every time he sees me. I don’t understand why lately I’ve been finding it difficult to string together words and form sentences; to remember my own birthday and my daughter’s new last name.

You obviously don’t know how embarrassing it is to walk into a shop and struggle to recall why you came in the first place. Nor do you realize how frustrating it is to misplace things like the keys to your front door or the wedding band you rarely take off.

I’ve lost the ability to do many of the things I once loved to do. I hate not being able to jog alone anymore because I might end up in the next town. I can’t cook any more because the recipes are too difficult to follow.

I don’t understand why you’re slowly decaying, or why you only come alive when you feel like it. I don’t understand what’s happening to you, and I’m not quite sure even the doctors do.

All I know is that you’re making a mess out of me, and it isn’t fair.

How could you do this to me? How dare you do this to everyone I love?

They don’t deserve the burden of taking care of me. The worst part of the day is seeing the looks on their faces when it takes me a while to recall who they are.

I’m sick of trying to conceal the loneliness I feel every single fucking second of the day. I’m sick of being unable to carry on with my life independently. I’m sick of being a burden. I’m sick of being lost.

How could you?



Posted in: Letter