Vintage ford steering wheel

 

Mona and I raised teenage daughters together. If you have shared that bond with anyone, you already know how much I treasure this lady. We also taught in the same school, attended the same church, and shared several highs and lows of womanhood. We should have grown old sharing stories of our grandchildren, but that isn’t going to happen now.

My mother taught me never to use the word “hate.” But, if I were going to use it, I would hate Alzheimer’s Disease.

One of the things I have always loved about Mona is her ability to speak the truth in a way that is both kind and take-no-prisoners blunt at the same time. It is a rare gift. If people are dancing around a subject, she can stop the music with a well-turned phrase, and suddenly the truth is just standing there like the last kid in a game of musical chairs. It is out, Baby. But it is also grinning.

Since her diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer’s, Mona has been losing the ability to communicate as clearly as she once did. And the world is less for it. Not long ago, when her prince-of-a-husband visited her in the safe place she now lives, Mona reached out to reassure him. That is also typical of her.

She could no longer sing in her beautiful voice or recite something lovely to him. She could no longer tell a great story with a twinkle in her eye even brighter than her words. Instead, she gave him these brave, brilliant words:

“I’m not going to baby,” she said. “I’m going to courage.”

Oh, my Heavens. I want to put that on a tee shirt and wear it every day, don’t you? Dear Reader, if you need to remember not to baby as badly as I do, please hop over to the amazing blog Mona’s husband has started. You will laugh and cry and believe in the power of love all over again. Scott and Mona are on a remarkable journey, and they have graciously invited us along. I’m so grateful. And, I’m going to courage.