His hands, my hands?

And another thing.  Last night brought me excruciating pain in my hands.  Sound familiar? That was one of Todd’s adjectives.  He worked with big four-plus syllable words frequently, hyperbolic, attention-getting, inarguable words.  flabbergasted was another one.  So I was flabbergasted at the excruciating pain in my hands last night.  I tried arnica, Tiger Balm, Aspercreme, heat, cold, Tylenol PM, Ambien and finally found some Advil Plus, which finally combined up and got me to sleep.

Not before wondering seriously if I’d been possessed.  I’d recently begun to realize how much I was like him, or how much his routines, bits, complaints, were peppering my experience and banter.  But now it started to really get weird.  Examples:

I was on the phone all the time during the day.  Long hours talking to my nephew, Bob, old friends like Thom, my sister, my niece, my sister-in-law, anyone who would call really and plenty whom I would call.  I usually eschewed the phone entirely.
Next, I was walking more duck footed (say no more).  Next, decidedly due to my recent loss, but nonetheless, I was weeping openly, and sometimes in public, unavoidable perhaps, but still . . . not usual.    And as mentioned, I was attacking nature and gear with hapless abandon (very Todd).    These would have been suspect enough, but last night I began to have other thoughts. Darker turnings as I did not sleep.  Painkillers colliding and creating disturbing visions.   Was I actually possessed?

Did some of his oblivion enter me when I handled the ashes?  Is this why other family had been speaking to him, or having bizarre and love-affirming strange occurrences, but I was not.  Perhaps he was not appearing to me because he had come inside from the cold. Or maybe I’d just been carrying that heavy long board too much.


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