I remember the days when you use to drive me to and from pre-school. You would buckle me up in the back seat using one of my favorite cartoon characters, Scooby-Doo, and we would either drive back home or to the park up the street. A few years go by and I'm no longer this little girl wearing saddle shoes but an eight year old kid who loves shopping and riding around on her bicycle. You bought me my first bike that Christmas and every year for my birthday you would take grandma and I shopping and out to eat. I sometimes wonder if you remember any of these memories when I stop by to visit you.

The last Christmas Eve you came to visit I was just learning how to play guitar and you use to love hearing me play the same three songs over and over again. I'll never forget sitting in the living room of your house a couple of months later as you silently read the newspaper article about my musical achievements. I was only thirteen or fourteen, but you told me that you were proud of me and that I wore your last name well. I think back on that day and I miss being able to have a conversation with you and talk about your days in the service or your trips to Hawaii.

I am now a freshman in college and I know you would be beyond proud of me. I am still the strong-headed young Italian woman you loved when I was a kid. I am still chasing my dreams every day of traveling the world, because you told me so many stories about your adventures. I didn't understand when they told me you were losing your memory, but there is one thing that hasn't changed. Your goofy smile that you always had when you were joking around with us.