.posthidden {display:none} .postshown {display:inline} By His Own Hand. . .: The ghost arm


The ghost arm

So a few months back I made an analogy about grief being like a rock-

Today I have found it has shifted into something stranger.  Specifically the past few days, and I don't know why, but now it's a ghost arm.

Now, to be fair, more than one someone mentioned this idea to me way back after Cam first died.  They made a comparison to the feeling that one might have in a phantom limb after having lost it in an accident, that there's something that's attempting to be exercised or feels like it's moving but it isn't there.  I didn't think there was much merit to that analogy, as it seems offensive to the person who is actually dealing with loss of limb.

But. . . . I've discovered that I do indeed have a ghost arm.  Maybe it's been there since the beginning, maybe it's been slowly growing and now it's big enough to be noticed, I couldn't tell you.  But it's there.  And wreaking a little havoc.

That's not to say it is all bad- for the first time possibly ever I am emboldened to talk more openly, to not shy away from conversation or to shut it down once it begins. . . but that also means I am spewing it all out, or at least that's what it feels like.  It's like the ghost arm is grabbing people, reaching out, slapping, waving, trying to bring as much attention as possible, and that's the part I don't like.

I know another part of this is that I've just been on a manic streak for a few days, so I'm doing a lot of writing and talking and e-mailing because there's a huge surge inside.  And while it still ebbs and flows, it is tending to be more on the front edge of things rather than swirling in the background.

So, if I say something that's kind of random...that's why.

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