I call to you now and ask you to reflect, to see through the dementia of years, through the medicated consolation, the depression, and the memory loss. See what I remember in this moment and feel my youthful hands grasp your weathered face as I plant a plush kiss on your weary forehead.
But most desperately of all, I implore you to remember the times I sat on your knee as a baby with my chubby fingers twirling your wispy white hair into bunches and how, like a genteel King of the pride, you let me play in bliss.
Succumb not yet to the Summerlands beyond. You are granted longer years yet.