When you’re 90, and I hope you reach that or more, I hope you remember us.
I hope you remember this old farm, and these old dogs and beat-up cats, and the way you’d run through the grass at the sight of your dad pulling up in the pickup after a long day’s work.
When you’re 90, and by then most of your friends will be gone, maybe a wife, a child, too, and all you have left are the videos of memories playing in your head, I hope you remember us and how I made you feel.
I hope you return to me, to us, in your mind to this time when it was just you and me and kisses and songs. The way you felt each time you saw our faces and the way we looked at you.
I hope it’s a sweet comfort when you’re an old man, and you remember your childhood as a time when you were unconditionally, purely loved.
Because, my baby, you so are.