One day youll notice that Im getting older my hands tremble when I fasten the buttons on my coat, I might drop a spoon at lunch or get a little messy. Please, dont be cross with me; be gentle instead. Remember how I patiently taught you everything when you were just learning to hold a spoon or dress yourself, back in our flat on Brick Lane.
If I keep repeating the same story, dont cut me off. Just listen. Do you recall how you would beg me to tell the bedtime tale over and over, hugging me until you drifted off? And when I sometimes refuse to hop into the bath, dont scold me. Think back to the little adventures I made up to lure you into the tub because you stubbornly refused to go in.
If Im clueless about the newest gadgets, cant figure out the smartphone or the TV remote, please dont laugh at me. Give me a moment. Remember how I helped you write your first letters, how we counted apples together and added numbers while I was nearly exhausted?
When my memory slips or I lose my train of thought, be patient, not angry. What matters to me isnt the exact words I say, but that youre here, listening, not turning away. When my legs grow weak and I cant walk beside you any longer, dont think Im a burden just lend me your hand, as I did when you took your first steps across the garden.
One day youll understand that despite every mistake, Ive always wanted only the best for you. Every step I took, every choice I made, was an attempt to make your path a little easier than mine. Give me a bit 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 Milly. I love you, my son Jack. And I pray for you both, even when you no longer notice it.
