The Young Man with the Missing Hand Part 2

We are all missing something.  Some of us are fortunate enough to know what it is and will be able to learn the lesson that lives in its place.  It must be more painful for someone to know something is missing but to not know what it is.  It must be even more painful to find out that the thing that you will soon be missing is your life.  That is my not my story for now.  The lesson that is mine to learn now is illusive and beautiful and revealing and true.  The truth has a perfect juxtaposition of joy and sadness.  I get to go on and bring more lessons to myself and others.  That is my gift.

And so, I walk forward in anticipation, trepidation, hope and glory because I get to go forward.  My soul mate, my music partner has a much different lesson and perhaps a shorter journey, and yet, we walk it together.  And I say, why me?  Why me?  Why am I the lucky one that gets to go on?  Maybe I give my hand for him, that his journey can be a bit longer, a lot more joyful, painless and awakening.  I love life so much.  I love waking up and having a day and getting tired.  And laying down and going to sleep and waking up again.

I can still snap my fingers, I can still sign my name, which reminds me of the journey.  If I get my hand back, I will love it.  And if it won’t move again, I will love it.  I will show it proudly like the perfect young man in perfect teen attire, whose missing hand is his angel.  He is one of my angels.  I hope I get to shake his hand.  I send him love, compassion, admiration and praise for his strength, his determination, and his obvious love of life.

I think I get it.  I think I understand and can share the lessons.  It is clear.  So perhaps the doctors and surgeons will do their magic and I will get my hand back.  By the way, I can still hold a violin and a bow, although I am terrified to try.  That’s part of the lesson, so can I please have my hand back??  I don’t know the rest of the story.  I believe in Western Medicine.  I believe in Eastern medicine and for that matter Northern and Southern Medicine and pretty much anything anyone contributes to healing.

When my grandfather lost his first eye, he proudly went forward with one eye.  When he lost his second eye, he commented optimistically, “Now at least I am free from this printing job that I hate anyway.” I am sure he was partially joking and there was a piece of truth that he lived every day, every moment, and that he taught to me, which I now call upon.  Where ever you are, Thanks, Grandpa.

So, don’t ever give up or you’ll miss the joy, the tears, the suspense, the drama which make the journey so exciting and so worth it.

I am not my body.  I am not my hands or feet or head.  I am the me that lives in my body, the house of my soul with all of its gifts and imperfections.

By Rick Concoff, c2013