When I was a young girl, my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Over the years I watched as her mind, strong and able once, slowly regressed till in her final years she could no longer speak coherent words or sentences.

As I grow older, I realize more and more how much of my grandmother the disease took away from me. When she was diagnosed, I was very young, not old enough to remember what she was like when she was completely disease-free. One of my most cherished possessions is a copy of the eulogy that my sister gave at my grandmother's funeral.  Filled with stories of her teenage years, it was instrumental in my discovery of the feisty, rebellious side of my grandmother, a side of her I never would have known if her own sisters had not shared these stories about her before her funeral.

Yet there is still a part of me that craves to know more about who she was. I wish that she had kept a journal, so that I could have discovered more of this amazing woman when her mind no longer permitted me to do so. There are so many things about her childhood and her life that I would have liked to know (What it was like to meet my grandfather for the first time? How did she feel when he asked her to marry him? How did she deal with the loss of her first child to leukemia?).  To this day I mourn the loss of knowing more fully the only grandmother who had been an active part of my life.

This need to know my grandmother is one of the motivating factors that has changed how I scrapbook and why. When I first started scrapbooking, I was just a little girl who enjoyed putting photos on construction paper with rubber cement (I know, I cringe at the thought too). But over the years, and especially now that I have a family of my own, I feel the need to leave my legacy, my story. I want my family to know who I am, what I love, and what I struggle with. I need my children to know that I am not perfect. That I struggled through my teenage years too. That I had my rebellious periods, but always came back to what I knew to be true. I want them to know of my unwavering faith in God, my belief in the eternal family, and how much I believe that little kindnesses make the world a better place.

As much as I feel the need to do this for my family, I know I need to do this for myself as well. I know I am unique. I know I have a story to tell. I need to leave my mark that will affirm the amazing life I’ve led and continue to live. It may not be amazing by society’s standards. I may not have a big fancy house, and I may not have lots of money to buy all of the latest and greatest scrapbooking supplies. But I have everything I have ever wanted in my life.

I have an amazing husband who is my best friend. He makes me laugh everyday. I have a sweet little boy who teaches me to be a better person. I have parents who have sacrificed to get me where I am today. I have a sister whom I have always looked up to (I used to follow her around when I was little and make her take me everywhere with her). I have a brother who has many talents and dares to dream big. I live a rich life because of them.

Alzheimer’s disease may have robbed me of the chance to know my grandmother more fully, but it did not take away her ability to teach me through her shining example. I have never doubted her love or her strength. Her name was Joyce--I don’t know of anyone else who radiated joy like she did. Even when she was aware of what the disease was taking from her, she always showed an increase of love to those around her. These are things that I want my children to know about their great-grandmother.

I also know that she would have wanted the legacy of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren to continue beyond the grips of mortality.

And so I scrapbook. To tell her story. To tell my story. And to make sure that her legacy lives on through me and my children’s stories.