Albie sent me this picture recently. He watched Harrison on this day-I think it was the day that we went down to Stanford to meet with the transplant team. What strikes me when I look at it is how quickly every sense is brought back to that familiar place-the smell of the hospital-the stiff, sheets-constantly changed. The pillow, usually I put two in a case. The soft blue gown. The soft bristle of his hair. His smooth cheek, his wrinkly, white thumb-slimy from sucking. The crackly sound of his "blue blanket" I can imagine the alarms and pumps, the sounds of doors opening and closing, people talking, the sun streaming in through the window in the afternoon, hear the BART passing by and the radio playing softly in the background. I want to crawl in beside him, as I often did, put my arms awkwardly around him as he sleeps and close my eyes.
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