Where I put myself

I was cycling along today, watching out for my favourite blossom trees, and happy to see the ones by the Seine have burst open their first flowers, and I found myself thinking: where do I put myself? My sons travel with me on that same route along the Seine every day. Where will I be in my sons' memories? Will they find me in the blossom trees? Or in the swearing and indignation which I direct daily at my fellow drivers? Perhaps they will remember the former, and cry, and remember the latter and laugh, but I hope I put myself in some kind of heaven, and that I can be found there.