I just drank a pint of Lagunitas Hop Stoopid Ale by myself. I usually share it with James so forgive my somewhat inebriated state. I saw it at the grocery store this evening and put it in our basket--I knew I would need it later when we arrived home.  Today was the day I brought Imogen inside the NICU to see James. I have brought her to the hospital previously with me but she remained in the waiting room because I feared that James might die and I did not want her last memory of him to be the vision of him intubated and hooked to machines.

I called the hospital before arrival and the team was a little giddy. They placed James in an automated chair today and he was very responsive. The young NICU doctor and bestie nurse wanted James to look as normal as possible for Imogen. I do not know how I will ever thank them for the love they have showered on me and James.

There was no preparing Imogen for James even though he has come such a long way in three weeks and I think he looks great now.  She was frozen the moment she stepped in the NICU, terrified.  He was clean shaven (which makes him lose his chin), mouth slightly agape, no glasses with eyes closed, and a tube connecting his neck to a vaporizer.  I told Imogen to wash her hands since we took the subway.  Once washed, I walked over to James and spoke loudly at him (it is difficult for him to hear): "I brought Imogen with me, she is here, do you want to see her?" He squeezed my hand very tightly.  Imogen reluctantly came over.  I slightly yelled, "Open your eyes Jim." He slowly opened his eyes which to me, looked fantastic but in that second, I stepped out of myself and saw him through Imogen's eyes--he looked transformed, really, into a sort of monster daddy. She did not want to hold his hand.  I told her, "Hold his hand Imogen." She held his hand for a few moments and he closed his eyes.  She turned to me, eyes brimming with tears, "May I go to the waiting room now."

I immediately walked her out and she was sobbing which got me crying. We both plopped down into the waiting room chairs and I hugged her. I felt terrible and unsure if I had hurt her is some way, psychologically speaking, by asking her to hold his hand. I explained to her that I have had weeks with daddy in such a terrible state and that I cannot help but feel relieved that he is sitting up in a chair, breathing on his own, and opening his eyes to see us. Imogen took a swig of her raspberry lemonade and collected herself. She is a good, strong girl. I apologized to her and told her we would take it slow. 

I returned to the NICU alone to spend time with James. He was watching Geraldo Rivera when we walked in previously. I turned it off. I put on his acoustic tunes play list.  I looked into his eyes--he was tired but fully present. I massaged his feet, hands and face. I played for him the CD of Imogen singing her Jungle Book solo. The physical therapist, Alana arrived to help transfer James from the automatic adjustable chair to his bed.  It took the nurse, Alana, an intensive care floor doctor, and myself to transfer James from his chair to his bed (one, two, three--transfer!). 

Alana decided to go ahead and give him a session of stretches. Young NICU doctor was present (he has a long, difficult to pronounce name which he told me on our first day together which I have promptly forgotten, he has said to call him Dr. R but nice young NICU doctor is how I think of him). Dr. R and Alana are very excited by James's progress in the last 48 hours.  James made a face and pointed to his leg because the stretch Alana was applying was causing discomfort. I warned Alana that James had dislocated his right knee three times and he was very squeamish about moving it.  James was definitely exhibiting that wariness as Alana stretched his right leg.  His memory is intact, hooray.  Alana asked James to mouth his first name--he did, no problem. The young doctor actually let out a little hurrah. She then asked for his last name. It was a bit of a struggle to get that She of Sheehan out but both the doctor and Alana said, "Yes, we'll take that!"

It was an emotional day. Imogen and I stopped by the Japanese bookstore on the way home to pick up origami papers and folders for me to organize the new set of matters I need to juggle: James rehab, law firm work, and personal matters to-do list.  James has dedicated friends through swimming and they have obtained a mobile telephone for me to use during this rehabilitation period for James (shout out to Penelope Coe and Margie Neuhaus--THANK YOU).

Deb, our good friend and master creator of the GoFundMe site, shared with me a concept today from the Jewish theologian and mystic, Abraham Joshua Heschel--radical amazement.  Radical amazement is a state of utter amazement, connecting to the deepest fundamental base of our being. James's transformation through this experience has provided everyone with the possibility of radical amazement--opportunities abound.

I think Deb was responding to my somewhat atheistic tale from yesterday.  I explained to Deb that James and I have ventured into this religious territory (agnostic for James atheistic for me) through a long process that began when we were teenagers.  I grew up with an atheistic father that had started out in life as a total believer, saved by none other than the Reverend Billy Graham, twice, for that matter.  He lost his faith as a young man in the coast guard upon retrieval of his first cadaver from the great lakes. I was curious about religion that did not occur in my home growing up.

When I met James and found out he was Catholic, I was rather excited. Finally, I have a direct source to answering my questions about the bible and religious practice! Instead, James was unable to respond to the most basic of religious questions. He had never given his faith or religion any thought or contemplation whatsoever. I recall that first conversation that took place in his tiny Honda parked outside the front of my childhood home. James was visibly shaken and upset at the end of that conversation.  It was the beginning of understanding his own beliefs and sense of self. 

James does not find solace in organized religion but he misses the community that the church provided for him growing up.  To fill that space,  James created many micro-communities (mini-churches) for himself.  All of you are part of that church--his students, the swimmers, his freelance gig compatriots, fellow artists, PS34 families, the opt out activists, the coffee klatch at Oslo, and really, every person that he has stopped to share his life with--his radical amazement. James even created a performance art piece at Cal in which he baptized people in his capacity as a "normal guy."  I told James that he has taught me so much (I tend to be a misanthrope) and that when I am faced with my antisocial behavioral tendencies, I strive to make an adjustment by thinking, "What would James do?"

I had a moment of radical amazement leaving the hospital yesterday. I was exhausted and feeling slightly sorry for myself when I looked up and saw a redtail hawk fly across the sky, down the canyon of First Avenue.

Everyone's assignment for the weekend is to locate a moment of radical amazement, on behalf of the church of James.  You all have it in you, I know it.

Peace out.