When the weight of the past leans against nothing

James has a cold and I decided to stay home today from work, just in case. He's sleeping now after a night of unrest and the discomfort of a stuffed nose. We were both sleeping on the edge of consciousness this morning, waiting for the dreaded alarm.  Imogen has to wake quite early these days to arrive at her extra session of school in the morning--the college-track classes of her middle school arrive an hour before regular classes begin.  She's not a fan of this extra hour of math!

I was having a disagreeable dream in the odd darkness of the early morning. I was standing in line at a counter with James at what appeared to be a hotspot gym in Manhattan.  There were other couples in line, wearing work-out spandex, looking healthy, drinking expensive concoctions of squeezed greens.  When we reached the front of the line, I looked over at James and he was naked but for his swimming trunks.  I was slightly embarrassed for him. He was peering down trying to fix the string on his trunks that had grown slack.  I reached over to help him and the suit slipped down.  I felt people turning to look at us and met one woman's watchful eyes. When I turned my attention back to James, he was trying to close a stainless steel compartment that opened below his belly button.  I was horrified, "What have you done to yourself?"  I realized, instantaneously--as recognition often occurs in dreams--that James had elected to remove all his internal organs to be free of mortality as part of a contract with a multinational corporation for an improved civilization. He had opted-in. This line was the check-in to gauge one's status. I quickly scanned the crowd at the gym and all of them had similar compartments. It was terrifying.  I tried to close the tiny metal door on James's stomach as quickly as I could manage but the employees behind the counter sensed that I was not in with the program.  Security guards were called, tasers ready.  I woke myself up--utterly relieved that James was asleep next to me, compartment-free.

I have been thinking what to write for this last entry.  I write all the time in my head. In fact, there is really never a time I am not writing.

James sketched this self-portrait in the first few days of rehab at Mt. Sinai.  I was still overjoyed that we had found the means to communicate with one another as he was not speaking yet.  He made this man to reassure me that he knew who he was in relation to the Monet doll that our friend Kevin had sent to him. James as Monet--the rectangle on his face representing his own glasses. Almost all his communication at this point in time had to do with his pain and confusion. This was one of the first positive responses he was able to express.

James has recovered almost completely on a physical level. He's swimming on his own almost five days a week and helping out with chores in the house--washing dishes, doing laundry. He is focused and working in the studio, preparing to teach a three-day workshop in January and a return to teaching his oil painting classes in April. He has another belly button now, created by the scar of the PEG.  It would make a face on his stomach if he had another PEG scar to balance it out--his belly button acting as the mouth. I am content with the off-kilter, unfinished face instead.

Cognitively, James is still recovering. I do not feel comfortable sharing this aspect of his recovery and that is really the reason behind the end of this blog. James is out in the world and becoming part of his various communities again. No need to update his condition because he's no longer convalescing.

My life feels utterly changed by this experience but at the same time, not much has shifted.  I have been committed to supporting James's art practice--we arrived at this balance in our relationship and life.  A friend once told me that I was a parasite feeding on James--that I was there to enjoy the spoils of his art career and not pursue my own passion.  I was given a similar observation by the head of an art foundation only he called me an "enabler."  I do not think either person understood my relationship with James and that I was not sacrificing a career to live as I chose nor dependent on James as the only source for action in my life.  They did not take into consideration my own autonomy because I did not have a product to show for it. 

I admit, James's illness has altered my role in our lives in a way I had never anticipated. I am in deeper.  It is not a burden. I am invested despite my nihilistic tendencies.

We are lucky and privileged.  It is utter vanity and vacuity to think anything different.

There is no possible way to thank the many of you for all the love and support. It was insane and I will never forget it.

Peace out and spread the love around.