One day youll notice that Ive grown old, that my hands tremble when I fasten my coat buttons, and that at lunch I might let a spoon slip or get a stain on my dress. Please, dont be crossbe gentle with me.
Remember how I once taught you everything with patience, back when you couldnt even hold a spoon or dress yourself. If I keep repeating the same story, dont cut me offjust listen.
Do you recall how you begged me to tell a tale over and over until you fell asleep, clutching me close? And when I sometimes refuse to hop into the bath, dont scold me; think of the little adventures I invented to lure you in because you stubbornly refused at first.
If Im baffled by the latest gadgets, cant master the smartphone or the telly quicklydont laugh at me. Give me a moment. Remember how I showed you to write your first letters, how we counted apples together and pieced together numbers while I was barely keeping my eyes open from fatigue.
When words escape me or my thoughts wander, be patient. Dont get angry. What matters to me isnt the exact words I utter, but that youre here, listening, not turning away.
When my legs grow weak and I can no longer walk beside you, dont think Im a burden. Just lend me your hand, as I did when you took your first steps around the house.
One day youll understand that despite every slipup, I only ever wanted the very best for you. Every step I took, every decision I made, was an attempt to smooth your path a little more than my own.
Give me a slice of your time, a pinch of patience. Let me lean on your shoulder, just as you once hid behind mine when you were hurt or frightened.
I love you, my dear Eleanor. I love you, my son Arthur. And I pray for you botheven when you no longer notice it.
