In my dream, we’re old. Much older than we are right now. Your hair is much greyer, mine still the same. We both have more wrinkles and laugh lines and frown lines. The whites of our eyes have dulled, our bones and muscles ache.
The girls are grown and gone and living lives of their own. They have families, they have homes, they have careers. They are strong women and although we have no need to worry about them, we still do. Parents will always worry about their children. But they’re happy, that we don’t question. They’re happy because we raised them with unending, unconditional love. We taught them to be what they want, who they want. To love who they want. To respect and to accept nothing less than respect in return. To be kind and thoughtful and hardworking. We taught them to love, by loving them. They’re ok. We did right by them.