Words That Outlive Us: A Father’s Reflection on Notes for My Son

I watched Notes for My Son on Netflix, and I wept.

It’s a quiet film, tender and brave, following the journey of a young mother, based on a true story, knowing her days are numbered, as she writes a notebook for her son to read after she’s gone. But for me, watching as a father, raising my only son at 55, it was more than a film. It was a mirror. A testimony. A calling.

This is not just a story of death. It’s a story of presence. Of legacy. Of intentionality. Of parenting beyond the grave through the power of words.

As I’ve written before, I keep speaking words into the life of my son as I raise him in my twilight years. I know my words will outlive me. I know they will create a glorious future for him to step into.

Scripture confirms this:

“We have the same spirit of faith according as it is written, I believed, and therefore have I spoken; we also believe, and therefore speak.”

—2 Corinthians 4:13 (KJV)

“Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear.”

—Hebrews 11:3 (KJV)

“Where the word of a king is, there is power: and who may say unto him, What doest thou?”

—Ecclesiastes 8:4 (KJV)

I take these words literally.

Today, I document more than I ever have, both in private notes and public writings across my blog and social media platforms. But these are not just content pieces. They are vision scrolls for my son. Blueprints of my faith, values, discipline, and love.

“Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it.”

—Habakkuk 2:2 (KJV)

Every word I write, I write for him.

The world? They are welcome to watch. To listen. Even to learn. But I write primarily for him. To anchor him when life begins to question him. To guide him when I can no longer answer. To affirm him when he begins to doubt.

And that’s why Notes for My Son hit home so deeply. It reminded me that love is not just what we feel or give in the moment. It’s what we leave behind—crafted in language, wrapped in memory, preserved with intention.

So, to every parent, especially those parenting from the quiet hour of life, know this: Your words will outlive you. Speak them. Write them. Frame your world with them. Pass the baton not only through DNA, but through documented vision.

Let your children know you were here, fully, purposefully, powerfully.

And let your legacy speak when your voice can no longer do so.