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I like that.
He had a wry sense of humor. At age two, recovering from tonsil surgery, he said "Am I going to have to eat jello for the rest of my life?"
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We chat about domestic problems, shopping, renovations (what color to paint things), his guitars, my ballet slippers, music that I use and music that he's fallen in love with. Lately we joke/rant a bit about growing older -- me showing how I handle it courageously, him having to handle it because he's an actor.
There are endless conversations about what his famous actor-singer Dad is doing and how success works for Dad but doesn't work for him. We share, sometimes uncomfortably -- facts of life -- realities.
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So as he progresses -- changes, looks ahead or looks back -- his mom can nod, recall, reflect on his life with him without interrupting, distracting, overly influencing where he's heading.
I like that. I am still the woman in this photo.
Yes, I'm a reference book -- a book of knowledge about his life -- what he is, and did, and does, and reached and still reaches for. I can't tell him what to do, but I remind him of what's important to him, to us.