My favorite memories growing up were spent with my Gigi. She was always a loving presence to have around, reminding me of a hot chocolate on a cold winter day when she would walk in my house dressed in a cozy crewneck, fuzzy socks, and knee high boots. She would rant about how cold it is outside and I would laugh because the temperature hadn't even dropped below sixty. Even if she was always cold, times with her were not. She always had a playful attitude that made her feel like one of us kids. The house would be filled with giggles from my brother and I as she chased us around, sang as she cooked us meals, and taught us how to play with and shuffle cards. At the end of the day, she’d tuck us into bed, read us a story, and plant a kiss on each of our foreheads. As the years passed, it had started with little things. She would forget the date even after reminding her multiple times or have trouble remembering the card games she had taught my brother and I how to play. The scary thing about dementia is that it creeps up on you. When she was first diagnosed, it was scary to visit her. It’s difficult to see a person you love lose a piece of themselves every day. My Gigi had been the one who held me in her arms when my family dog passed, the one who sparked my love of reading with her bedtime books, and the one who made me breakfast and orange juice when I was sick. Now, she feels like a ghost of the person she was before. There are rare moments when I talk to her now where she suddenly remembers one of our memories and we can laugh about it. Though, these moments are fleeting. I’m frightened by the idea that one day she will look into the face of the same little girl she used to sing to and laugh with and not recognize her. Still, even if she doesn’t remember me, I remember her and the times we shared. When I visit her nursing home, I make sure to hold her close, read her a book, always bring new fuzzy socks for her, and never forget my parting kiss on her forehead. My Gigi has taught me that one of the most important things in life is to show others love and kindness because you never know how much they really need it. I think that this lesson fully embodies what being a nurse is. Seeing my Gigi and other patients in her nursing home has built my passion to pursue nursing and be able to help them and others, just like she had helped me. For me, being a nurse would give me the power to not only make a positive difference for my patients and in the healthcare system, but for myself to also grow into a better person. I want to be the compassionate person to make patients laugh, comfort them when they’re scared, and remind them that they’re not alone. When I picture my future self, helping patients and advocating for their health, I see my Gigi beside me, decked in her crewneck, fuzzy socks, and knee-high boots, smiling down at me proudly.

My favorite memories growing up were spent with my Gigi. She was always a loving presence to have around, reminding me of a hot chocolate on a cold winter day when she would walk in my house dressed in a cozy crewneck, fuzzy socks, and knee high boots. She would rant about how cold it is outside and I would laugh because the temperature hadn't even dropped below sixty. Even if she was always cold, times with her were not. She always had a playful attitude that made her feel like one of us kids. The house would be filled with giggles from my brother and I as she chased us around, sang as she cooked us meals, and taught us how to play with and shuffle cards. At the end of the day, she’d tuck us into bed, read us a story, and plant a kiss on each of our foreheads. As the years passed, it had started with little things. She would forget the date even after reminding her multiple times or have trouble remembering the card games she had taught my brother and I how to play. The scary thing about dementia is that it creeps up on you. When she was first diagnosed, it was scary to visit her. It’s difficult to see a person you love lose a piece of themselves every day. My Gigi had been the one who held me in her arms when my family dog passed, the one who sparked my love of reading with her bedtime books, and the one who made me breakfast and orange juice when I was sick. Now, she feels like a ghost of the person she was before. There are rare moments when I talk to her now where she suddenly remembers one of our memories and we can laugh about it. Though, these moments are fleeting. I’m frightened by the idea that one day she will look into the face of the same little girl she used to sing to and laugh with and not recognize her. Still, even if she doesn’t remember me, I remember her and the times we shared. When I visit her nursing home, I make sure to hold her close, read her a book, always bring new fuzzy socks for her, and never forget my parting kiss on her forehead. My Gigi has taught me that one of the most important things in life is to show others love and kindness because you never know how much they really need it. I think that this lesson fully embodies what being a nurse is. Seeing my Gigi and other patients in her nursing home has built my passion to pursue nursing and be able to help them and others, just like she had helped me. For me, being a nurse would give me the power to not only make a positive difference for my patients and in the healthcare system, but for myself to also grow into a better person. I want to be the compassionate person to make patients laugh, comfort them when they’re scared, and remind them that they’re not alone. When I picture my future self, helping patients and advocating for their health, I see my Gigi beside me, decked in her crewneck, fuzzy socks, and knee-high boots, smiling down at me proudly.

My favorite memories growing up were spent with my Gigi. She was always a loving presence to have around, reminding me of a hot chocolate on a cold winter day when she would walk in my house dressed in a cozy crewneck, fuzzy socks, and knee high boots. She would rant about how cold it is outside and I would laugh because the temperature hadn't even dropped below sixty. Even if she was always cold, times with her were not. She always had a playful attitude that made her feel like one of us kids. The house would be filled with giggles from my brother and I as she chased us around, sang as she cooked us meals, and taught us how to play with and shuffle cards. At the end of the day, she’d tuck us into bed, read us a story, and plant a kiss on each of our foreheads. As the years passed, it had started with little things. She would forget the date even after reminding her multiple times or have trouble remembering the card games she had taught my brother and I how to play. The scary thing about dementia is that it creeps up on you. When she was first diagnosed, it was scary to visit her. It’s difficult to see a person you love lose a piece of themselves every day. My Gigi had been the one who held me in her arms when my family dog passed, the one who sparked my love of reading with her bedtime books, and the one who made me breakfast and orange juice when I was sick. Now, she feels like a ghost of the person she was before. There are rare moments when I talk to her now where she suddenly remembers one of our memories and we can laugh about it. Though, these moments are fleeting. I’m frightened by the idea that one day she will look into the face of the same little girl she used to sing to and laugh with and not recognize her. Still, even if she doesn’t remember me, I remember her and the times we shared. When I visit her nursing home, I make sure to hold her close, read her a book, always bring new fuzzy socks for her, and never forget my parting kiss on her forehead. My Gigi has taught me that one of the most important things in life is to show others love and kindness because you never know how much they really need it. I think that this lesson fully embodies what being a nurse is. Seeing my Gigi and other patients in her nursing home has built my passion to pursue nursing and be able to help them and others, just like she had helped me. For me, being a nurse would give me the power to not only make a positive difference for my patients and in the healthcare system, but for myself to also grow into a better person. I want to be the compassionate person to make patients laugh, comfort them when they’re scared, and remind them that they’re not alone. When I picture my future self, helping patients and advocating for their health, I see my Gigi beside me, decked in her crewneck, fuzzy socks, and knee-high boots, smiling down at me proudly.