Dear Mom-I dreamed about you again the other night. They are so vivid, these dreams. I was in the bathroom and we were getting you ready for bed-you were in the bedroom and all of a sudden you were all over the place-flopping around, standing, walking, it was crazy. I was so afraid you would fall-your mind was still not good but your body was its old self. You were not healed, but better. Then it flashed to outdoors, a tree, you walking, holding onto Jeff's arm-then he turned into dad-but you walking, stiffly, unevenly, but walking nonetheless. You had a nice pants suit on like you used to wear-and you were not healed, but better. I think part of the grief of this disease is that here on this earth, you will never be better. Some days are better than others but it is always a downhill slide and I hate that. You get better-my hope soars-my hear rises-then I remember that it will not last. I have to remind myself to adjust my focus-to look ahead to heaven-where you will be, not better, but HEALED.
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