Will You Love Me Forever?

This article was published by Public Discourse on September 17, 2025.

If stillborn children could inspire one of the most-loved children’s books in the twentieth century, then maybe a grandpa with dementia will inspire one of the best stories in the twenty-first.

Amanda Achtman

By Amanda Achtman

When I was growing up in the 1990s, there was a children’s book that my mother read to me so many times that I can still hear the sing-song cadence with which she read the refrain. That book is Love You Forever by the American-born Canadian author Robert Munsch. One of the most-loved children’s authors of all time, his books have sold an astounding 87 million copies.

Love You Forever begins with a mother rocking her newborn as she sings: 

“I’ll love you forever / I’ll like you for always / As long as I’m living / my baby you’ll be.”

As the child grows, he causes his mother all manner of frustrations. But no matter what he does or how big he gets, she always goes into his room at night, picks him up, and rocks him, singing the same lullaby. Eventually, the mother grows old and sick and calls her son to visit her. She is so sick that she is unable to sing the lullaby that has been the lifelong expression of her love. And so her son sings it to her tenderly, revising the last lines to say, 

“As long as I’m living my Mommy you’ll be.”

It is a touching story of the natural circle of life and of the unconditional love for which we are made. This is one reason why many Canadians are shocked that the book’s author, of all people, is saying he wants a doctor to end his life by euthanasia. In a recent piece for The New York Times, Katie Engelhart has written a profile of Robert Munsch titled, “When Dementia Steals the Imagination of a Children’s Book Writer.” The article pays homage to Munsch’s creative process. He would tell stories to children at schools and events, and workshop the stories in real time based on the children’s reactions. Sometimes he would incorporate their spontaneous outbursts into the published versions of these stories. Engelhart tells us that Munsch often stayed with host families of schoolchildren “at first because he couldn’t afford hotel rooms, but later because he found that families were a good source of stories.” She pays tribute to Munsch’s insistence on retaining the names of children on whom he occasionally based his stories “because one of his rules was that if he made up a story about a real child, the child ‘owned’ the story.” Many of Munsch’s books were inspired by the real-life kids he met and by the thousands of pieces of fan mail he received from his young and imaginative readers.

His national legacy is, first and foremost, as a storyteller. Yet Munsch has the humility and transparency to admit his serious struggles with loss and grief, mental illness, and addiction. “I have worked hard to overcome my problems, and I have done my best. I have attended twelve-step recovery meetings for more than 25 years,” Munsch wrote in a note to parents on his personal website. “My mental health and addiction problems are not a secret to my friends and family. They have been a big support to me over the years, and I would not have been able to do this without their love and understanding.”

Much of this had been previously reported, for example, in a Toronto Life article from 2010 and on various news programs. He spoke candidly about his depression and suicidal ideation, confessing, “I didn’t have any friends. My career was eating my life.” At his wife’s insistence, Munsch began seeing a psychiatrist, particularly since his grandfather had died by suicide. It has been a tumultuous life to which we are barely privy: a life of overcoming obstacles in the hope of making a difference in the lives of the people around him.

Engelhart’s article then fixates on what Munsch can no longer do. He can no longer ride a bike, drive a car, and, particularly cruelly for an author, he can no longer read. Like the mother in his classic story, he himself has become old and sick. But, unlike her, he now is tempted to seek state-sponsored suicide.

To schedule his death at the hands of a physician would contradict the message of unconditional love that he shared all those years ago, a message that resonated with hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of children and parents. But it would also contradict the support and understanding with which, thankfully, he was met throughout his life. When he faced depression and suicidal ideation, he got a psychiatrist. When he struggled with drugs and alcohol, he joined Narcotics and Alcoholics Anonymous. After he lost two children, he and his wife welcomed three through adoption. But now that he is elderly and asking for euthanasia, what is on offer? Why, only now, should there not be any antidote?

Engelhart does not tell us what his wife, children, or grandchildren think about his decision. However, one daughter has since spoken out, informing the media that Munsch is not dying imminently and that the news that he was considering MAiD is not new since he discussed this with journalists four years ago upon receiving diagnoses of dementia and Parkinson’s.

Now, in The New York Times interview, he is admitting his deepening insecurities over having dementia, expressing his fear about becoming “a turnip” or “a lump.” The request for medical assistance in dying (MAiD) is a cry of the heart concerning self-worth and lovability. Now that he can no longer tell stories, which had always been such a key part of his identity, he is shaken and vulnerable. The request for euthanasia betrays a fundamental lack of self-esteem.

But his stories did not only come from his own genius; they came from others, including from the tiniest and weakest. In fact, his most famous book of all was actually inspired by the two children that he lost. On his personal website, Munsch’s biography says that he wrote Love You Forever as a memorial for his two stillborn children, delivered in 1979 and 1980.

It was these gifts that completely transformed him, that made him a father, that broke open his heart to that radical Love You Forever kind of love. These two children who never took a breath in this life have had an incalculably positive impact on the world by inspiring Munsch to write his book and encouraging readers to love one another, despite failures and weaknesses, through every season of life.

No matter what he suffers now, Robert Munsch will never be more vulnerable, more discreet, more unspoken than his stillborn children who inspired his bestselling book of all. In the universality of Robert Munsch’s fears about dementia, we see the need to propose something other than death. It is time for someone else to continue the story with him still in it. Just as in the story, he needs someone to pick him up and rock him “back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.” Singing over him: “I’ll love you forever / I’ll like you for always / As long as I’m living / My [dear one] you’ll be.”

If stillborn children could inspire one of the most-loved children’s books in the twentieth century, then maybe a grandpa with dementia will inspire one of the best stories in the twenty-first.