When I’m disabled by age, mentally or physically, and you are still three years younger, fitter and taller, will you tolerate my dementia? Treat me gentle, treat me nice, keep me clean and looking good? I want you to take me to the park to hear the leaves rustle and the birds singing.
Take me to the beach so I can feel the sand under my feet and have a sea bath. Drive a bit easier; not everybody can keep the traffic at optimum flow.
Will you leave off tinkering with the guitar and play songs I remember that I can sing?
Will your read me books aloud in bed, like you used to before we had the kids?
I will love you as I always have for your vulnerability and your strength, your masculine presence and competence, your capacity to see through bullshit and your failure to hide your feelings. You will probably still need me. I hope I won’t forget you.