• I need to show my love more

I do actually love my dog Thunder. He’s been my boy for 12 years and I love have having him around, love petting him, and always enjoy walking him down to the lake to watch him play in the waves.

But ask Thunder if I love him and I don’t think he would passionately answer with details of our tight friendship.

See… I don’t really show him that I love him. I don’t pet him all the time, I rarely take him on walks, and I don’t spend a lot of time with him. I just don’t actively show him how much I appreciate and love him. Which sucks because I really want to. I want to walk him, take him to a park, play with him more every day.

But in my movements I don’t make an effort to fit these desired actions into my schedule.

Then I come in late at night to see him lying on his bed and feel guilty for not making time to be with him instead of running off to do something more… immediate and selfish.

One day Thunder will move on to Dog Heaven and I will regret NOT doing all of the things I should have and wanted to. And I will be sad that while I had the opportunity I didn’t make time to show how much I love him.

The same goes for my family.

I want to be with the family. I want to cook family dinner with everyone. I want to talk to my sisters who are out of town more often. I want to do fun things and make memories with my dad, mom, sisters and step dad. I want to because one day they won’t be around and I will regret not making more of an effort to spend time together.

But there I go out the door in a hurry…

_ _ _ _

To My Grown-Up Son

by Alice E. Chase

My hands were busy through the day,
I didn’t have much time to play
The little games you asked me to,
I didn’t have much time for you.

I’d wash your clothes; I’d sew and cook,
But when you’d bring your picture book
And ask me, please, to share your fun,
I’d say, “A little later, son.”

I’d tuck you in all safe at night,
And hear your prayers, turn out the light,
Then tiptoe softly to the door,
I wish I’d stayed a minute more.

For life is short, and years rush past,
A little boy grows up so fast,
No longer is he at your side,
His precious secrets to confide.

The picture books are put away,
There are no children’s games to play,
No goodnight kiss, no prayers to hear,
That all belongs to yesteryear.

My hands once busy, now lie still,
The days are long and hard to fill,
I wish I might go back and do,
The little things you asked me to.

_ _ _ _ _

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