By far the most chilling passage in the old family paraphernalia I’ve been digging through is this one, from a letter sent by Terrell State Hospital — formerly, the North Texas Lunatic Asylum — to inform my grandmother’s mom that her daughter, Louise, died from tuberculosis-related complications: We are sorry this girl could not have been mentally restored. We . . .
I don’t remember seeing pictures of my Great Aunt Louise until recently, but she has haunted me since I turned fourteen. That year my granny pulled me aside to warn me I was old enough now to be vigilant about madness: my own, my sister’s, and my future children’s. She described the descent of her own little sister, Louise, a . . .
I’ve been delving into family history recently, and my mom has been answering questions about her fascinating lothario father (above, right), who died the year before I was born. From recent email: Daddy was married 13 times, I think: once before he married Granny, then 2-3 times to Christine…. I have a letter here from Gran [from] when Daddy was . . .
I spent last weekend getting sucked into Ancestry.com, in search of information about ancestors like my mom’s dad, whom she claims was married thirteen times, and his hay-hook-wielding father and infant-murderess mother.* You’d think the census takers would’ve been moved to jot a few observations about these people in the margin, but no. I did find out where my grandmother’s . . .