The stage embraced the presence. The audience received the sight. The lights sucked the life of melancholy but with every step he took, my heart was walking away with him. His best moments filled my eyes with tears, his arising smile, the start of my instant sadness. A contrast of catastrophe! As the music rang, my mind spiralled on a life of its own. I remembered the first chord, the first rhythm, the first composition. I remembered the first drive, the first fan, the first CD. After the firsts, well, life sped up, I became a mimic. It’s hard to be an individual when you’re feeling forgotten. I’m sure he still cared. Gifts were sent regularly, worth more money than my hands ever had grasped before.
Sometimes I understand that I may be perceived as selfish but believe me it’s all wrapped in love. This division of emotion usually gets the better of me, I guess I’m trying to make a point here, that the Beatles got it right. I am proud, don’t fail to believe that, however every now and then I become nostalgic. I’m content for his life though I’d give up almost anything just to have an occasional relationship with my son. A relationship that doesn’t include his rise to fame, success, Hollywood friends or multi-platinum discs! I long for the time when life wasn’t so simple.