I want to grow old with you.
We’ll wrinkle together. And grey.
Lose our glasses, our vision, our hearing, our memory, our friends.
Look back at days past. With much fondness and some regret.
And to the future ahead. With wonder and hesitation.
I will accompany you to the park. And for your physical.
Be there with you. At church. And the grand-childrens’ weddings. And funerals.
I want to offer a feeble trembling hand to your faltering gait.
Wipe away that last bit of food from your lips. And your tears.
I want to help you bake. Find missing recipes. And then burn the cake.
Because we forgot and didn’t hear the timer ring.
Unravel the ball of wool while you patiently knit.
Hot tea at hand, rocking in your chair.
I want you to make my eyes light up through the haze.
Make a smile play upon my wizened face.
At the too-tight sweater you couldn’t get right.
I want to whisper in your ear. Turn on the TV loud.
And cackle together at a joke we didn’t understand.
I want to fall asleep on the couch. And cover your toes as you sleep.
There’s so much I want to do with you, I wonder if I’ll have the time.
If not, no matter.
I’ll be waiting with St Peter by the Pearly Gates.
So we don’t miss out on even a moment more together.