Reeve

When my boss mentioned this morning that Dana Reeve had died, I exclaimed, "What?!" and it must've seemed like I knew her personally. I feel like I did, because I felt like I knew her husband. His was a face I had in my mind since I was old enough to tie a towel around my neck and jump off furniture. I still miss him, which is weird, given that I never met him.

The Reeves were both inspirational for me for different reasons, and for different parts of me. Every little boy wants to be Superman. I grew up with Chris's face the symbol of power and imagination. And it was still that, even when he was paralyzed, because it was still Superman's face. I could attach to it exactly what I wanted this fictional character to be. What Would Superman Do? Everything right, always. It's a childish thing, a fanciful notion, a justification to do what you already know is right. Because Superman would. I never separated Chris Reeve from Superman, so that's what he meant, and still means, to me.

Dana was an inspiration for the adult me. When, especially in the past year, I felt like the issues that come with my relationship are too much to handle, when I felt like I would rather be off meeting other, easier people, I would often think of her, how she stood by Chris, her love, after his accident; how she put her life aside to take care of him. And I bucked up and dealt.

Chris was a child's vision of strength; Dana was an adult's. I hope their son Will, who must feel very alone right now, is able to mix those two strengths together, because at thirteen he's going to have to be an adult and a kid. Chin up, Will. What Would Your Mom & Dad Do?