My dear son, you can see I’m getting older… I ask you to be patient with me!
My dear boy, you see how swiftly time flies and how the years are changing me? I ask you to be patient with me.
Please try to understand when I need you more, knowing those moments will only increase.
Don’t get frustrated if I repeat the same things or tell you a story for the second, third, or fifth time. Remember how patiently I taught you to speak your first words, how I recited the alphabet over and over until you remembered the letters. Recall how often I explained the same thing until you understood. I never grew tired, because you were my son, my own flesh and blood.
So now, just listen to me, even if you feel like you’ve heard it all before.
Don’t be upset if I walk slowly, if I can’t keep up with you like I used to, if my legs don’t work as well. Remember how I held your tiny hand when teaching you to walk. How you’d walk uncertainly, and I’d support you. Remember how you’d run and how I’d chase you, laughing and catching you at the last second so you wouldn’t fall.
Now it’s my turn to be less quick, less strong. But inside, I’m still the same—your father.
Don’t judge me if I can’t keep the house as tidy as before. If I forget where things are or am not as adept at handling tasks. Remember how many nights I stayed up, nursing you when you were ill. How I carried you when you had a fever, how I found the best doctors so you’d recover quickly.
I was exhausted but never complained because you were my son.
Be patient with me if I can’t keep up with technology, if I don’t understand how a new phone or computer works. If I ask the same questions repeatedly. Give me some time, explain it again, hold back your frustration. Remember how I taught you to tie your shoelaces, how I showed you to hold a spoon, and how I explained the world to you. I did it slowly, patiently, with love.
Don’t fault me for continuing to worry about you, even if you’re a grown man now. I still wait for your calls, think of you, and pray that you’re well. And if I ask what you ate, how your day was, or if you got enough sleep—don’t brush me off. Just understand: to me, you’ll always be my boy.
One day, you’ll understand what it’s like to wait for your child when they’re out late at night, to hear the sound of footsteps at the door and rejoice that they’re home safe and sound.
I know a day will come when I’ll be too weak to take care of myself like I used to. I don’t know what that will be like—perhaps helpless, perhaps forgetful, perhaps cantankerous. But I ask you—don’t turn away from me then.
Remember how I changed your diapers when you were a baby. How I rocked you to sleep when you were crying. How I protected you when you were scared.
If I start doing things differently, if my habits change, if my words become confused—don’t get angry, don’t be upset, don’t lose patience. Just be there with me.
When it’s my time to leave this world, don’t grieve. Just know that I was happy because I had you—my son, my pride, my love.
May the best of our days remain in your memory. May you remember me as strong, loving, and caring.
I’m grateful to you for every moment we spent together.
And while we’re still here, while we can look into each other’s eyes, I want you to know—I love you, my son. Always.
