My dear son, you can see I’m getting older… Please, be patient with me.
Time flies, and you see how the years are changing me. I’m asking you to be patient with me.
Try to understand me when I need you, and know there will be more moments like this as time goes on.
Please, don’t get annoyed if I start repeating myself or if I tell you the same story multiple times. Remember how I patiently helped you learn your first words and repeated the alphabet until you knew each letter by heart. Think back on how many times I explained things to you until you understood, and know I never tired, because you were my son, my own flesh and blood.
So now, just listen to what I have to say, even if you feel you’ve heard it all before.
Don’t be upset if I walk slowly or can’t keep up as I once could. Remember when I held your little hand and taught you to walk? How you toddled uncertainly while I supported you to prevent you from falling? Remember how you ran, and I’d laugh, chasing after you to catch you just before you stumbled.
It’s my time now to not be as quick or strong. But inside, I’m still the same person—your father.
Don’t criticize if I can’t keep the house as tidy as before, if I forget where I put things, or if I struggle with tasks. Recall the many nights I stayed awake caring for you when you were ill. How I held you when you had a fever and sought out the best doctors to ensure your swift recovery.
I was worn out but never complained, for you were my son.
Be patient if I fall behind on technology, don’t understand how a new phone or computer works, or if I ask the same question a few times. Give me time, explain again, hold back your irritation. Remember how I taught you to tie your shoelaces, how I showed you to hold a spoon, how I explained the world to you. I did it slowly, patiently, with love.
Don’t judge me for worrying about you even if you’re a grown man now. I still await your calls, think of you, hope everything is well for you. And if I ask about your meals, your day, how well you’ve slept—don’t brush me off. Just understand: for me, you will always be my little boy.
One day, you will know what it’s like to await your child’s return from a late night out, to feel relieved when they’re home safe and sound.
I know the day may come when I’m too frail, unable to care for myself like I used to. I don’t know what I’ll be—perhaps helpless, forgetful, or fussy. But I ask you—not to turn away from me at that moment.
Remember how I changed your nappies when you were a baby. How I rocked you to sleep when you cried. How I protected you when you were scared.
If I begin to act differently than before, if my habits change, if my words become jumbled—don’t be angry, upset, or lose patience. Just stay by my side.
When my time comes to leave this life, don’t mourn. Simply know that I was happy because I had you—my son, my pride, my love.
May the best days we shared remain in your memory. May you remember me as strong, loving, and caring.
I’m grateful for every moment we’ve had together.
As long as we’re here, as long as we can look each other in the eye, I want you to know—I love you, my son. Always.
