Midnight, 26 July 1952
Sleep will not come to me. I am in too much pain. The agonizing
pains in my abdomen are harsher than they’ve ever been and I’ve lost
so much weight that I’ve become a skeleton— and not myself. I’m no
longer me. I’m no longer Evita. Only my eyes live.
Perón has abandoned me. He only comes to my room occasionally,
and when he does, he wears a mask so as not to inhale what he claims
are ‘bad odors.’ Just the other night I dragged myself from this room,
from my deathbed, to his room and he cried “Get out!”
How can he leave me like this, after all I’ve done for him? After
I’ve demanded that the descamisados give their lives for him? I would
willingly give my life for him and for Peronism. Is it true he believes
I’ll serve him better in death than in life? I have served Perón willingly
and with all my heart and soul. Is this how he repays me for a life of
love and devotion? So be it, I have served him and my God the best I
If that’s the case, than I would prefer to die. I believe I have com-
mitted enough good deeds to get into Heaven. I was not a bad person.
Perhaps I was a bit too vengeful at times, but all of us are angry. No one
is completely good except God and the Blessed Virgin.
I kissed lepers. I worked in the Foundation and I suffered willingly
for the poor, even sacrificing my health. And if God were to give me
back my health, I would never wear my jewels again; just the plainest
of clothing. But as it is, I know I will not live through this day. I will
do nothing today except remember my life and how I came to this bed;
alone, abandoned, and forgotten by all except my descamisados- and
God. I believe God never forgets the humble. But why does he want me
to die?! Who, who now is going to take care of my poor?
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