You+Ought+To+Be+In+Pictures

Dear Diary, January 28th, 1933. My name is Edith Summers. It is the cold winter of 1933. I am 26 years old, & my Husband Jason is 29. I have 3 children. Right now my son Jake is sick, he has tuberculosis. I can't go to a doctor because we don't have the money. My other daughter’s names are Jane & Annalee. There twins & absolute angels they try to go school everyday. Right now life isn't so good. I have barely enough food for my family. My husband goes to try to find work again, but hasn't had much luck. He’s gotten fired from his job, since the stock market crashed. I live on 1951 S Horizon Road, Fort Lee-- New Jersey. I was born in Philadelphia, PA, but moved to New Jersey.  My parents are gone, mother passed away last year, from cancer & father died from leukemia. I have no one, except my children and husband. It is so cold in this house. Right now we don't have enough food, we need food-- but we need money for that. Sometimes I wish I could just escape this life, but that’s just my fantasy. I don't even think we have enough money for rent. Jason went out job-hunting today. He came back and said, "No luck today sweetheart, but tomorrow is just another day". Yours, Edith.

Dear Diary, February 5, 1933. Dear Diary, well it looks as we'll be great pals. Good news ! Jason's uncle owns a bakery shop and gave him a job, as a bread boy. The whole family is ecstatic. We have enough money to pay the rent now, and slowly get by in this horrid life. I feed dreadful for my children, to grow up in such a life like this. They absolutely don't deserve it. I feel helpless and sick. I wish I could take them all to a better life & relieve there sufferings. Anyways diary I'm sorry for I have nothing appealing to tell you. The coldness in this house fills my mind with emotion. I have no idea how to survive. My thoughts on how we live come across my mind everyday. Jason's back time to make dinner, whatever will it be. Until another day diary. Yours, Edith.  Dear Diary, February 15, 1933. Dear Diary I haven't wrote to you in a while. I don't want to bore you. So why don't I tell you a touch more about my parents. Mummy was a prude. Father was my favorite. Each time something was on my mind, its like he could read my thoughts like a window. If only mother had just one aspect of an understanding mother, either tenderness or friendliness or patience or anything else, I would keep trying to approach her. But this unfeeling nature, these mocking ways. To love that becomes more impossible each day. There marriage wasn't any good, It wasn't an ideal marriage. Father wasn't in love. He kissed her as he kissed us children. He sometimes looked at her teasingly and mockingly but never lovingly. She loved him as she loved no other and it was difficult to see this kind of love always unanswered. I only looked at her as a mother, and she just didn't succeed in being that to me; I had to be my own mother. I've drawn myself apart from them all; I was my own skipper and later on I shall see where I came to land. All this comes about particularly because I had in my mind's eye an image of what a perfect mother and wife should be; and in her whom I must call "Mother" I found no trace of that image. Yours, Edith.

Dear Diary, May 2, 1933. Diary I haven't wrote to you in ages, you see I couldn't, because Annalee had to be committed to the hospital for a leg injury. We are officially broke & out of cash right now, Hopefully Jason will receive his paycheck soon, so we can pay off these bills. Off again diary, back to return to dearest Annalee. Yours, Edith.

Dear diary, May 5, 1933. I simply can't build my hopes on a foundation of confusion, misery and death, I think peace and tranquillity will return again. I have been thinking today, about the world. I can't believe what is happening to the world. I want to twist my heart round again, so that the bad is on the outside and the good is on the inside, and keep on trying to find a way of becoming what I would so like to be, and could be, if there weren't any other people living in the world. Today Jason said he was told that people were looking for him. I am very scared. All these days I have been dejected & apprehensive. I can't think or sleep because I think about the children Incessantly & about our money shortage. Dear diary my life is honestly a nightmare. Yours, Edith.

Dear Diary, August 30, 1933. Diary I loathe being the one who has to figure out everything in this family, the one who has to think what's going to happen to us if we don't pay the bills. It is incredibly hectic for me. I know Jason cares but he refuses to show it. The children I know would care, but there only simply don't understand. Dear Diary, I fear I might be getting sick. Which is just the last thing I need. I saw the doctor, with the little money that I saved, and he said that since my mother had died from cancer, it could be hereditary. The pain I feel in the body is indescribable. My head and entire body is filled with agony. The doctor said I need chemotherapy, a relatively new treatment. The doctor says I do __not__ have a good chance, which is horrible. He says roughly 114,186 die each year. Diary I hope this is just a nightmare and soon I will wake, and have no memory of this horrid dream. My life is impossible, what have I got to live for, nothing. I despise myself. I am so despondent constantly, my children do not a deserve a mother like this, who always talks endlessly about her hatred of life. I need to be a more loving, hopeful & blissful, at least for the sake of my children. I do not want them to fall into a spiraling black hole of depression. Depression is basically is a black hole, in my mind. It steals the fun and laughter from your life, & you turn into hating everything, being cold hearted and bitter. Diary I abhor it. Yours, Edith.

Dear Diary, September 8, 1933. I am now in the hospital, for I have pity for the people in here. The place is just disgusting. I can't even begin to explain how to food is & how to the nurses treat people here. First off the food is awful, the smell is just impulsive. I have the most strongest overwhelming desire to get out of here & see my children. For now diary you are all I have. Jason has seen me ever day since I've been here, and even bought our children. Oh how I yearn for them, my heart is sore, I wouldn't care, even if I caught a glimpse of them. All I want to do is see them. Diary when I die, I hope to know my children read you, so they can truly understand there mother & how much she cared & loved them. Diary, cancer is surely sucking the life out of me, each day I grow weaker. The doctor says I'm getting sicker. I don't know what to do. How am I supposed to help that. I have a limited time to live. I don't know what to think, I don't want to my children and husband to suffer any longer, being in this hospitals kills them already. When I die, I can't even imagine how there going to react to my death. I don't want to die, but I have no choice unforturnately. Why does god want me to die so quickly in my life. What have I done to deserve this. My life just keeps incinerating inch by inch. First off I'm poor, second Jake has tuberculosis, third Annalee has a broken leg, and lastly I'm dieing of cancer. I honestly don't think my life could get any worse. Yours, Edith. <span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS',cursive;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Dear Diary, November 3, 1933. Diary, sorry I haven't wrote to you, I try to write to you everyday but the nurse says I should just rest & sleep. I'm sure sleeping all day isn't going to rot my cancer away. Why should I try to please these people, and get walked all over like a door mat. What do these dense nurses do for me anyway. Diary guess what I had for dinner. They served mashed potatoes, milk, and green beans. Which is an improvement for them. They used to serve just fruit and vegetables. I have been knitting also, its very peaceful for me and calms me. Of course my hands shake constantly, so its more complicated than usual. My hair has began to fall out. My hair is basically the last thing I have, of course besides my children and husband that is. I have been reading these books the nurses give me. The book are hardly entertaining and are dry. Just right now I have been reading In the Mind's Eye: Dada and Surrealism by Dawn Ades. Its a dull book, I need more interesting books, something about even history perhaps. Diary I am very lonesome for my children, I haven't seen them in 2 months. Jane's birthday is coming up on the 28th, shes turning 14. What will I surprise her with. Perhaps a book or even a diary, since it has brought me such joy, perhaps I could give her one. My loss of appetite grows stronger each and everyday. Diary I only have a few more pages to write to you. It saddens me, but I probably won't even get to write much more in you anyways, due my situation. Well diary the nurse is coming in a couples seconds to check on me. Bye for now, dear diary. Yours, Edith. <span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS',cursive;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Dear diary, November 28, 1933. Diary, They have put a radio in my room, since they say I will be staying long term. I don't think I can think of a more powerful word, other than the hatred I feel for this place. Well Jason says the stock market hasn't improved at all. What is happening to the world. I don't feel any doubt the world will talk about this later in time. Perhaps a time far away, like 1970 for they will see what sufferings we lived in. Today is Jane's birthday. Jason has brought me a diary to give to her. I hope she likes, I really do. I'm sure she'll need something to hold on too when I pass. Diary I haven't got any interesting news for you. I feel as if I'm talking in circles. So I'll bite my tongue & stop right here. Yours, Edith.

Dear Diary, January 3, 1934. Diary It is finally a new year. Its official I've had cancer for a year. Sadly I have some rather terrible news, my son Jake has fallen ill from <span style="font-family: 'Comic Sans MS',cursive;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">tuberculosis, Jason has told me, that Jake didn't wake this mourning. His lips were purple, and his body was stiff. His eyes were shut closed. I can't believe this. Jason called the ambulance of course. There having the funeral two weeks from now. Sadly I can not be there. It kills me, I've done everything to help him and I failed to keep him alive. I feel like a awful mother. I can't seem to keep my children living and healthy. I am having a surgery that is called, thoractomy. The doctor says there is a 1 in a 1000 chance that I survive. I can't breath. I can't sleep, its too painful, to know that I'll never see his soft rosie warm face again. I taught him well, Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands. I need reassurance right now, & stability, not jerks who don't even come to comfort me when my son just dies. Family isn't supposed to treat you like that, family is supposed to be there for you and warm your heart in this time of heartbreak.

//Edith Summers died May 1934. She died during surgery. Jason her husband, sued the hospital. He did not win though. They gave him insurance, to see a thepist to deal with his grief of his wives death. He married another women in 1936 named Holly, Marker. They had one child together named Paul. Jane became a doctor and graduated highschool & got her masters degree. Annalee dropped out of highschool, from the pain of her mothers death. She soon returned back in 1938. They all moved forward in there lives, They will always remember there mother & how much she loved them. Jane & Annalee wished that they could just have known her alittle better. May 1, is the anniversary of her death. They all detest that day//. One and all, they all spend hatred on May 1st.

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