It wasn’t until an hour later, when I was walking to the subway, that I allowed myself to think about what that question meant. As I descended the subway stairs, all at once I saw it - a curtain parted, lights went on and all that I knew about James was clearly revealed. It had been there all along, of course, only I had not dared to look. As I went through the turnstile, I realized that I had known what was behind the curtain even as the question was being asked; the 'mere volunteer', however, had been afraid to share what I knew with anyone, even my conscious self.

 The train came. I entered a car and took a seat, still wondering what to do with all this information. If Dr. Abrams had asked, "Do you know what's wrong with him?" she must have thought I knew something beyond what she knew. I felt overwhelmed by the responsibility of being consulted in this manner. Dr. Abrams and I had often spoken in the course of my ten months of working with the children. At some point I had mentioned my study of spiritual healing and she seemed to accept that aspect of my experience. Now, apparently, she was coming to me for help—not in my role as “mere volunteer”, but as a healer. It was clear that I needed to respond to her, to share with her what I 'knew' about James.

 The following week, on a bright sunny October day, another volunteer and I were taking some of the children to a nearby playground for fresh air and exercise. The nurses said that James was well enough to go, though he showed little enthusiasm for the outing. In recent weeks, he had ceased to use his verbal vocabulary and communicated with his enormous brown eyes, pointing fingers and using non-verbal sounds. It was in this manner that he indicated, after a short time at the playground, that he wanted to return to the hospital.

 When we reached his bed in the room he shared with several other children, I asked him if he would like a healing. He nodded, yes. Lying on his side, I placed my hands on his back as I had done several times in the past.  Some time later, Dr. Abrams joined us. At this point, James was sitting up and we were reading a story together. I had told her earlier when I had arrived that I wished to speak to her at her convenience. It hadn't occurred to me that our conversation might take place in James' presence.

 I started by saying that I had been thinking about her question, and that I did have information about James that I wanted to share - information received. I did not consider myself the author, however, more  the messenger. Dr. Abrams seemed to understand and accept this preamble. James, on the other hand, put out his hand to push me away. Clearly he did not want me to continue. Turning to him, I touched him lightly saying, "I know you don't want to talk about this, but I think it's important that we share what's going on with Dr. Abrams." James stopped protesting but continued to look very doubtful.

 Taking a deep breath, I began, "What I know, in the way that I know it, is that James is really tired and wants to go home. He has been obliging so many people here at the hospital for so long - he is exhausted. James has a huge heart, not just physically, which you are well aware of, but on an energy level as well. He feels an enormous responsibility to everyone who comes to see him: nurses, doctors, interns, technicians, staff, volunteers. He wants to please them all. They each come asking James for something: give me your blood, cover your mouth, take this medicine, go to sleep, give me a smile, be a good boy. And James does his best to oblige them all. That's a lot to ask of an adult person, let alone a little boy, not yet four. He simply can't do it any more. He needs to be allowed to go home and rest."

 I noticed that James was silent now, looking more relaxed. I turned back to Dr. Abrams. "So that's what I know. I also know that you know all this." A suggestion of a smile touched her face as she replied, "Yes, I suppose I do." She then spoke of her concern about James losing weight and her wanting him to be in the best possible physical  condition before she left the following day to get married. "Every time I go away he gets sick. I don't want anything to go wrong while I'm away this time."

 Soon afterwards, I left the hospital, blowing kisses to James and the other children through the glass partition. I watched James return them, as he always did, saying, "I lub you." Later that afternoon Dr. Abrams took James down the corridor into her office. "He fooled around and got into my desk and we laughed and had a great time together," she reported to me two weeks later. "He was his old self again."

 The Sunday following our conversation, Dr. Abrams was married. At precisely the time that she and her husband stepped under the marriage canopy, James slipped into a coma. Early the following morning his huge heart stopped beating. James was on his way home.

 Jane Hughes Gignoux

© 2003

A version of this story first appeared in The Children's VOICE, a Newsletter of the Northern Lights Alternatives/Children with AIDS Care Program

Issue No. 4, May - June 1989

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