A Note to My Kids

When I am ninety, please remind me of a few things in a kind but persistent manner:
...that most people can still hear me even when I think I am whispering
...that I have to move past the car door before it can be opened for me
...that people need more than six inches of space to get around me
...that you can’t answer me until I quit talking
...that I won’t hear your answer unless I actually listen
...that drawers and walker brakes are not malfunctioning, I just don’t have as much strength as I used to
...that two people very seldom can fit in a doorway simultaneously
...that silence or the lack of incessant chatter does not necessarily equal anger, sickness, a crisis, or pending divorce, but can often simply denote thoughtfulness
...that, similarly, the lack of a smile does not equal crankiness, but can simply mean a state of concentration
...that people are generalizing when they ask how I am
...that you have not yet mastered the art of instant materialization when I summon you from the bedroom (and you are in the bathroom or the basement)
...that not every bit of information that either of us knows is meant to be shared (most of it, but not every bit)
...that criticism from a ninety-year-old is just as hurtful as criticism from someone younger
...that patience is a virtue
...that I am valuable
...that you love me