Sometimes youll notice that Im getting older, that my hands shake when I fasten my buttons, and that at lunch I might drop a spoon or get a bit of sauce on my shirt. Please dont be cross with me; be gentle instead. Remember how I used to teach you everything patiently when you were still learning to hold a spoon or dress yourself. If I keep repeating the same story, dont cut me offjust listen.
Do you recall how you would beg me to tell you a bedtime tale over and over again, pulling me close until you fell asleep? If I occasionally refuse to go and wash up, dont complain. Think back to the little yarns I spun to lure you into the bath when you stubbornly refused to get in.
When I cant quite make sense of the latest gadgets, cant wrestle the remote or a smartphone quickly, dont laugh at me. Give me a moment. Remember when I helped you write those first letters, when we counted apples together and added numbers while I was barely keeping my footing from fatigue? If I forget a word or lose my train of thought, please be patient and dont get angry.
What matters to me isnt the exact words I use but the fact that youre there, listening, not turning away. When my legs grow weak and I cant walk beside you any longer, dont think of me as a burdenjust lend me your hand, as I did when you took your first steps across the garden at our cottage in Yorkshire.
One day youll see that despite all my slipups, Ive always wanted only the best for you. Every step Ive taken, every decision Ive made, was an attempt to smooth your path a little more than mine. 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 Poppy. I love you, my son James. And I pray for you both, even when you no longer notice it.
