Except you don't have birthdays when you're dead...

April 21st would have been my Gran's 97th birthday.  Except, according to my mother, you don't have birthdays once you die.  I guess this is true.  The age you died at is the last age you will ever be.  You don't have another birthday because you aren't here to have another one.

I guess it is like you are frozen in time.  Or even forever young depending on what age you died.

My Gran was 86 when she died so we'll just say she was frozen in time.  Although because she had Alzheimer's if you caught her on a bad day and asked her how old she was she probably would have told you she was 39.  Maybe it was a good day for her after all.

I remember once when I was a little girl telling my Gran that I wished she would live forever.  She quickly and firmly told me that she didn't wish the same thing.  I didn't understand this at the time.  Once she got Alzheimer's I was sorry I had wished eternal life on her.

It's hard to remember my Gran sometimes when she could still remember things.

And then I stumble upon things like a note she wrote to me my 1st semester at LSU.  I know she missed me when I went to LSU.  My Pepaw had just died in April and then away I went in August.  I was with my Gran a lot that year.  My Pepaw had gone into the hospital in January and then he died in April.  My Gran didn't drive so I got my Pepaw's car with the disclaimer that I had to drive my Gran wherever she needed to go.  At 17 I wasn't exactly thrilled with this idea.  Now I wish I had that time back.

I found a note my Gran sent to me at LSU.  I could cry every time I see it.  It is written on her church notecard.  She LOVED her church.  Here is some of what she said to me:

"Dear Monique,
                        I think about you and say a little prayer for you every day.  Don't forget to find a time to pray.  You were so good to me taking me to church on Sunday.  I hope you will enjoy the football game this weekend.  Study hard and have fun and give my best to Jeff.  I look forward to seeing you the next weekend you are home.
All my love, Gran"


All this was written in my Gran's beautiful handwriting.  I can almost smell her perfume.

I think I have to find a time to pray for her now.  Happy Birthday Gran.  I don't care what your daughter says, it's still your day.

When I picture myself

I was looking at this picture of myself from this past weekend. This was at my friend's wedding. I have known all these girls since grammar school. I hate this picture though. I hate it because like most pics of myself in the last few years, there it is like a giant pink sore thumb, my walker.

I'm sure I tried to move it out of the picture. I usually do. You can tell I tried to push it from in front of me like I don't even know whose it is. Yeah, doesn't always work.

I can assure you that whenever I pictured myself in the future, this is not the picture that appeared in my head. I don't know if I even thought I would be using a walker when I'm elderly. For Pete's sake I took dancing for 14 years! I guess that doesn't repel MS.

I've been going to physical & occupational therapy for years. The only goal I'm told I should have with that is to not get any worse. I probably will never get any better.

OMG, you know what I really can't picture, what I would look like if I got any worse. I'm blocking that picture out!

I have tried to lighten the mood of using a walker. The one I have now is an adorable frosty pink. It's still a walker. One year it even had it's own Halloween costume. It went as the Cash Cab. Funny right? Not really so much to me.

There are days when I'm tired of it being a part of me. I don't want to see it in the picture.

On the other hand, it has in some odd way made me the center of attention. Or at least it makes everyone gather with me and around me.