Jonathan Larson's last gift to his parents was the award-winning musical that has given them the opportunity to share their son's genius with the world.

For Allan and Nanette Larson, the past three years have approached the surreal, as they mourn a son and celebrate his success.

Allan Larson speaks softly. His words are certain but not emphatic.

When he closed up his direct- marketing business in White Plains, N.Y., he and his wife, Nanette, were supposed to retire to Albuquerque, where he'd play golf and they'd look forward to visits from their children, Jonathan and Julie.

The quiet life of mellowing years has eluded them. Instead, fortune, prizes and second-degree fame have been thrust upon them. But it came at too great a price. It cost them their son.

When composer Jonathan Larson, 35, was struck by an aortic aneurysm in January of 1996, just days before "Rent" opened Off-Broadway, his death deprived the world of a potentially great musical talent at the very genesis of his career.

It also left Allan and Nanette Larson in a new city, mourning their only son. It wasn't a private tragedy. Their grief was claimed by the world, by strangers who did not know their son but claimed him just the same and mourned him as their own.

His death became inseparable from the meteoric rise of "Rent," which is still selling out on Broadway after nearly three years. Every story made reference to his death; many revolved around it. On the Web, fans have created entire sites devoted to Jonathan, many taking on an almost mythic, James Dean quality.

It's weird, Allan Larson says.

"Because to us, he was just our son, and now, in a lot of people's eyes, he's bigger than life."

When the Larsons learned of Jonathan's death, it was early morning. They were asleep in their home in the Northeast Heights.

"We had moved here in the spring of Õ93, theoretically retired," Larson says. "We got the call at 5 o'clock in the morning, and at 8 we were on a plane for New York . . . that's where the support network was. And that's one reason I haven't spent as much time here as I'd like."

So what was supposed to be retirement has become a second career. There wasn't a family vote or even a discussion, but Allan Larson naturally settled into the position of family spokesman soon after his son's death. He's finding it nearly a full-time job. Larson, 73, spends hours on the phone, many with lawyers handling suits against two New York hospitals over Jonathan's death.

Four days before his death, Jonathan Larson was rushed to Cabrini Medical Center with heart attack symptoms, but an ECG turned up nothing. Doctors said it was something he ate, pumped his stomach and sent him home.

Two days before his death, Larson again went to the hospital, this time to St. Vincent's in the West Village, near his shabby apartment with the bathtub in the kitchen. Once again, doctors took X-rays, said it was a virus this time, and sent him home again. On Jan. 25, 1996, his roommate found him dead on the floor of his apartment, a steam kettle burned dry on the stove.

Larson's parents have sued both Cabrini Medical Center and St. Vincent's Hospital in New York. The hospitals were fined a total of $16,000 by the New York State Board of Health for the misdiagnosis. The civil suit is still pending.

Another lawsuit, with the Larsons on the receiving end, concluded in July when courts ruled that dramaturge Lynn Thompson was not a co-author of "Rent." She had sued for $40 million.

Lawsuits aside, Allan Larson finds himself devoting hours in phone calls to accountants, agents and managers for Jonathan Larson and his estate.

"I'm learning about showbiz like crazy," Larson says. "It's been a crash course. Of course, we have had more than our share of legal entanglements. Next year we expect our suits against the hospital to go to trial. The mills of the courts grind much more slowly than those of the gods."

From the first show at the New York Theatre Workshop -- where dress rehearsal became a memorial service for Jonathan -- through the Broadway cast and multiple touring companies that perform now, the Larsons have embraced the cast and crew of their son's legacy.

Allan and Nanette Larson go to the opening of each company all over the country and around the world; they have seen the show more than 60 times. In September, they went to Japan to see its company unveiled. They recently returned from the Sydney premiere.

"It's very much an emotional thing for me, but I go primarily to try and instill in the cast some sense of what Jonathan was about, who he was, and the idea that 'Rent' is not just another gig," Larson says. "Rightly or otherwise, I like to think in some small way I succeed."

And when "Rent" opens in Albuquerque Tuesday, the Larsons will be in the audience for its first production in their adopted hometown. The show will be doubly special -- for its Albuquerque premiere, and for the Larsons' reunion with a few of the many cast members who have unofficially become part of the Larson family.

"It's really a real kick to have it come here," Larson says. "The company that's coming here, they open someplace else almost every week. I haven't seen these kids in a number of months now, and I look forward to seeing them because we've sort of adopted everybody who plays in 'Rent.' . . . It's still not a substitute for Jonathan, but I look forward to seeing them perform here."

So far, the Larsons plan to visit privately with cast members when they arrive, and to see two of the show's eight local performances. But like fans who have to see both nights of a rock concert, the Larsons might be drawn in for more shows.

"It's not inconceivable that I might sneak in for one or two others," Larson says. "I'm a glutton for seeing the show. I'm a 'Rent'-head in my own right. I think that Jonathan wrote a terrific show."

Incorporating the framework of Puccini's "La Boheme," "Rent" sets its characters in New York's East Village, among contemporary Bohemians facing AIDS and drug addiction.

The six characters include Roger, a rock star who's beaten heroin but faces AIDS; his love interest, Mimi, still using drugs and HIV-positive herself; his roommate, Mark, an aspiring filmmaker; Mark's ex-girlfriend Maureen, a performance artist; her current girlfriend, Joanne, a lawyer; Tom Collins, a radical college professor; and his love interest, Angel, a homeless drag queen.

Four characters are HIV-positive, two face drug addiction, and most face a degree of poverty, but both the libretto and the score proclaim the virtues of hope and community. Minimal set, no pyrotechnics and basic costumes focus this show on the characters and the music -- a traditional approach to a musical with non-traditional subject matter.

Not only an audience favorite, "Rent" also took home multiple Tony Awards and the Pulitzer Prize for drama. Or rather, Jonathan's family took them home, months after Jonathan's funeral.

"We have the Tony and we have the Pulitzer," Larson says.

His daughter, Julie, has another Tony in her home in Los Angeles. She's coming to Albuquerque for next week's opening.

"Obviously, eventually, all of this is going to end up in the hands of her two sons," he says.

The plaudits and pain competed in a bizarre mix of emotions, what Larson once called "a roller-coaster ride through hell."

"I like to think at this point, I have more or less come to grips with it," he says, "although I readily concede that for the first couple of years, I was going through all the motions, reasonably correctly I think, but I was just in a state of numbness. My daughter still hasn't had a chance to come to grips with it because Jonathan was not just her brother, but her best friend."

Relatives and friends, both of the parents and the children, helped the family cope.

"We had a terrific extended family as the kids were growing up, and I guess that in some ways we've gotten closer overall," Allan Larson says. "The outer edges of the extended family have closed ranks around us. Jonathan had a fantastic group of friends, most of whom are (depicted) in 'Rent' one way or another, and we've gotten much closer to them than we would have because we're a different generation."

Friends, family, cast members and perfect strangers have all helped the Larson family accept the riches bestowed upon them. But all the awards, money and celebrity introductions are a pale compensation for a man who knew Jonathan Larson not as a composer but as a son.

"I've said it a million times already, but I'll say it again. I would swap all of this to have him back alive here," Larson says.

"I'm also realistic to know that that ain't gonna happen."