They chose to write not as witnesses to a fallen hero, but as participants in a life still unfolding. Their father’s fame is the least interesting thing in the room; what matters is the way he still laughs first, apologizes quickly, and lets his children see him on the hard days instead of hiding behind a legend. Parkinson’s, in their telling, is not a headline but a weather system—unpredictable, inconvenient, sometimes brutal, yet woven into the pattern of their days.
They have grown into careers, relationships, cities of their own, but their compass keeps swinging back to the same true north. Home is a table where jokes land between pill schedules, where eye contact finishes the sentences his voice can’t. The update they shared was not about surrender, but about a deeper kind of courage: accepting that love cannot stop time, only soften how it passes, together.
