“WHEN I AM VERY OLD I HOPE…”
This one was another prompt from a friend.
When I am very old I hope I still wake up before the rest of the house. I hope to still have a favorite shirt I slip on over my wrinkly and weathered skin as I shuffle across the house to get some hot water going. I hope I get to be the one to greet the sun’s yawn in the kitchen window, and then again in the living room window.
When I am very old I hope you can still do odd jobs for beer money. I hope there’re still weeds that need pulling, pine straw that needs laying, and furniture that needs moving. And I hope that I’m still someone you can ask to help with all of it.
When I am very old I hope someone at some establishment still knows my order, and all it takes is the sound of my car in the parking lot to get three eggs on the griddle for me. And I hope they write little smiley faces on my receipts, and I hope I tip well because they deserve that kind of kindness.
When I am very old I hope my wife is too. I hope she knows how silly I can be, and how to pierce through my assumptions and how to disrupt my selfish mind. I hope she is still ticklish and I hope she still reads enough fiction for the both of us. And I hope she keeps her bedside light on long after I’ve gone to sleep.
When I am very old I hope I said “no” to enough things. I hope that I didn’t sell my life to the pressure to be good at so much, but that I felt the conviction of knowing what you don’t have time for. I hope I attend all of my grandchildren’s birthdays. I hope people feel the freedom to come sit at my table with me and talk about themselves and what is hurting and what isn’t. And I hope I’m in touch enough with the world to know how to listen to them.
When I am very old I hope I still don’t brush my hair. I hope it’s grey and frayed. I hope I speak a little less than I do now. I hope I have a couple more scars. I hope my kids have forgiven me. I hope my hands are calloused and my heart is soft. And I hope I have given it all away.