I like it when you're here

James loves the snow.  As a native Californian, he never lost his wonder over being enveloped by the soft, white hush of perfection.  Growing up, his parents spent winter family holidays at Lake Tahoe. It is another thing entirely to walk outside your home and look up into a sky of swirling flakes.  Our first real blizzard experience was in Philadelphia while James was in graduate school. I recall the first flakes as they began to fall as we drove from the university campus to our house.  James and I thought it was ash from a fire--that was our only context up to that point, the wild fires of our youth.  We laughed very hard when we realized, no, it's snow! 

Since it is a snow day and public schools are closed, I am spending the day at home with Imogen.  She really wants to be at home with her mum.  I am debating whether to venture out later in the day to check on James but when I called the hospital this morning, the nurse encouraged me to stay put.  I will bother them today instead with my calls.  She did say James is resting comfortably, no change in status from yesterday--he's responsive, squeezing hands, wiggling toes, opening eyes. 

I still feel the pull of the hospital though. Every day, when I exit the subway at Park Avenue, I have to stop myself from running the avenues over to First--I cannot walk fast enough. It is a huge relief to see James in his bed.  I dislike the feeling of him wondering where I am right now.

I met James during the summer in which I turned 17 and was to start my senior year at high school that fall. I have known James since I was in first grade.  As many of you have probably heard from James, he was my crossing guard, since he was three years older than me and the big man on campus at our elementary school. He remembers helping me across the street because I was a little kid bookworm with a very heavy backpack. He was also the only redhead at school for some years--I recall seeing him in line to play a ball game called four square before he graduated to middle school. 

James asked me to marry him after dating for two weeks. He even bent down on one knee and looked very serious. I told him that he should take me to the senior ball first and that I needed to turn 18!  I had to put him off.  He would continue to ask me about getting married until I finally said, "OK! When we graduate from Cal, we'll get married!"  He also wanted to have a cat.  Marriage and a cat were his priorities upon graduation. After both graduation and wedding ceremonies, on the day we moved into a house in Oakland that had a large basement painting studio for James, he turned to me and said, "Ok, let's go get that cat."  We ended up with four kittens because James could not bear separating the family.  Our housemate took two and we had the other two.  Animals love James.

James and I have lived through everything together. We have the same childhood memories that are triggered by sense, similar to Proust's madeleines, such as the smell of wet pavement in Japan after a fall rain shot us back to our childhood experience of playing on the blacktop of our school during parent/teacher conferences when the evening dew made everything smell wild.  We evolved and changed together over time--shared the same political awakenings, the grief of realizing our own prejudices, and the philosophical debates about the meaning of life. James made a painting about it entitled, "Discussing the Trip."

We even shared the same dream one night while sleeping. We both woke up at the same time and I said to him, "Who was that guy?" and James said, "I don't know."  We were both sleepy but then, startled because we realized that we were in the same dreamscape together. We sat up and started comparing notes because the dream took place at this particular spot in the neighborhood in which we grew up. It was uncanny.

Our decision to have Imogen was made late. I was turning 40 and we knew this would be the last opportunity to have a child.  When Imogen was born, a friend of ours Douglas Ross made the comment, "There really is no difference with the addition of Imogen. There's just three of you now instead of two." I think that's just about right.  James and I always felt like a two-headed monster in a way.  Now we have three heads.

It has never been difficult to share James with the world. I was only jealous once, early on, when a woman fellow student invited James to see a classical guitar concert. My mother was a passionate guitar student at the time and the concert was by a master guitarist, Andres Segovia--tickets were long sold out.  I was so upset that James would go to this important concert with another woman. My parents even had tickets and were attending. I spent that night alone crying in my bedroom. That evening, when my parents returned, my mother told me that she saw them at the concert. She said to me, "Do not worry, she was not an attractive person."  It's ridiculous that I had any doubts and I laugh now thinking about my mother trying to comfort me about the competition.

James has close friendships with so many people, that it actually makes me incredibly happy if someone recognizes what is so special about him--shares in my love of him. James has a terrific friend, Sally Tittmann. Years ago, before Sally was married and a mother of two, they would meet up for breakfast on a weekly basis. Sally is an intelligent, beautiful woman--I find her striking--she truly shines in her beauty from within and out.  James felt a little guilty that he would spend this significant time with her without me.  I told him it was ridiculous. Sally and James have a chemistry together that was unique to the two of them.  We would bump into Sally at art openings and I would drift away to chat with someone else and see them across the room together, leaning in to one another, laughing and enjoying each other. What a joy! One day, James insisted that we three go look at art together. It was slightly odd, there was a dynamic between them that I put off kilter. However, there was a moment when Sally was just laughing, truly understanding this aspect of James that I thought no one else recognized but me. I was so totally jazzed that Sally knew this about him!

I know that each of you out there has a unique relationship with James--one that is based on mutual love and respect.  Your friendship has given James meaning and balance in his life.

Let this blanket of snow covering the city and keeping James snug in the hospital be a manifestation of that unique individual relationship that he has with each and everyone of you. 

Much love to you.