Steven Weissman

Ten minutes before we were going to leave, you threw a tantrum. I don't give a damn that you have Alzheimer's, you are still in control of your emotions even if your body is disobeying you. I should know—I saw how quickly your attitude changed as soon as I walked out of the room. You were playing your daughter's emotions, pitting child against mother. Yes, I heard you, you lying snake. Any pity I had for you went out the window that instant. You lied, gossiped, and even threatened suicide in an act that should have won an Oscar—and your loving daughter fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Then, as soon as she was gone, you smiled. You sicken me.

Once, I hoped that you would die soon out of respect. You claimed you were suffering from Alzheimer's, and I hate to see others suffer. Now that I see how petty and selfish you really are, I hope you die soon so as to relieve the world of your selfishness and lies.

I don't blame the rest of the family for disowning you. Out of your three children, only my mother will even keep in contact with you, and you used her. Out of your six grandchildren, only I used to keep in contact with you, and you screwed me over. I don't care if you write me out of the will. I'll happily be lumped in with the rest of the people who avoid you while you whisper nasty things about me behind my back to my mother. Please die soon, old bitch. recommended