Molly Jong-Fast Reflects on Her Mother’s Dementia and the Fleeting Nature of Fame

“Look, Moll, this is a hearing problem,” Ken stated. I had spent such a lot of years arguing with him about what truth used to be and what truth wasn’t, and every time he would inform me my truth used to be mistaken and his used to be proper. I hated arguing. I hated it. “She just needs hearing aids.”

“Ken,” I stated. “This has nothing to do with hearing. She has dementia.”

“Ah, Moll,” he stated. “You know she’s just thinking of her next book.”

But Mom hadn’t written a e-book in a very long time. The very last thing she’d revealed used to be a e-book of poetry with a writer that gave the impression of a conceit press. They had requested her for a donation. I’m now not an economist or anything else, however I believe the writer is meant to pay the creator.

And unexpectedly I used to be 13 once more, begging my stepfather to get my mom to prevent taking slimming capsules, or to have her decelerate at the ingesting. Everyone advised me I used to be loopy if so too. They would inform me that my mother didn’t drink an excessive amount of; she used to be simply drained. She used to be simply handed out at the mattress, eye make-up smeared all over the place her face, lipstick in every single place.

She used to be simply running on every other e-book. She used to be slightly below numerous power. Ken would inevitably claim, “Once she gets her book done, then she’ll be back to normal.” Thirty years later, and I used to be having the very same dialog with him. But this time, at 44, I in any case knew my truth used to be proper and his used to be mistaken.

There used to be no e-book. There would by no means be every other e-book. Her Last Tycoon, her swan music, used to be to be an autobiography referred to as Selfie. She had gotten the concept Selfie used to be a excellent name as a result of, at a memorial carrier for a pal, she had run into David Remnick, the editor in leader of The New Yorker. She had advised Remnick the name, and she or he had determined he had favored it. It used to be now not utterly transparent if this had in reality took place, or took place in the way in which my mother used to be reporting it, but it surely didn’t subject. That used to be her model of the tale. It used to be all the time her model of the tale.

“I think she’s fine,” Ken stated frivolously.

One of the fascinating issues used to be that it’s essential say anything else to my mother and stepdad, like anything else, and so they wouldn’t get mad at you. Ken did love preventing, however a part of the explanation he beloved it used to be as a result of he by no means were given in reality indignant.

I advised him that this used to be bordering on insane. I advised him that everybody may see what used to be taking place right here.

“She wrote ‘neat’ on someone’s Instagram post about her dead father. Like, ‘Gee whiz, that’s so neat that your father died.’ ”

“Eh,” Ken stated.

That used to be one of the most many baffling issues about either one of them—when offered with proof that in all probability they have been mistaken, they’d simply forget about the proof and proceed on their merry method. This addiction of theirs all the time made me really feel insane.