As a little girl, I always smiled when reading these words when opening a birthday card or christmas card from my grandmother. The cards were always beautifully decorated with glitter and artwork of princesses in tall castles on big hills. My grandmother loved tales of knights and princesses, and would always read me the French translations of many common stories. She was always so wild and energetic, always wanting to go out and do something. My mother would sigh in disapproval as my grandmother would run around the house, chasing my younger sister and I. She would always sneak us money or little trinkets, typical things for a grandmother to do. My grandmother on my mother’s side lived in Haiti at the time and spoke no English, so I felt much more connected with my father’s mother. Now when I look back, I wish I had kept every single birthday card from her. As her Alzheimer's progressed, the cards changed. The handwriting became messier, the notes shorter. The cards came at random times, months off from my birthday. One year the handwriting changed completely. …show more content…
I opened it to see numerous newspaper clippings and drawings of recipes. The handwriting in it was one I had not seen for years, handwriting that could only be found in old birthday cards. The book was filled with pages upon pages of french and american recipes. When I showed it to my mother, she told me it was a wedding gift, from my grandmother to her daughter in law. Rediscovering her old recipe book reminded me that while she is no longer the same energetic, loud woman she once was, her legacy and her love still resonate in the world around me. I see it in her old books, in her drawings, in the name my younger sister shares with her, in my father’s smile, and in mine. And as long as I have my memories, she does not need to send cards or remember my name, I already know she loves