I am moving, moving, moving. Five days here, three days there, six days somewhere else. It certainly wasn’t the intended effect, but all this travel has kept me from going to the one place I really want to go: inside my head.

I’m a tired insomniac who is depressed and grieving. It’s the time of year when, instead of being happy that I was so busy I made it through another day, I’m annoyed because it means I’m one day closer to the anniversary of my worst day. I want to be distracted from the pain but on my own terms – laying under a blanket, watching Annie dance, observing the way the clouds move outside my bedroom window.

Blue peeks through #marchphotoaday

It’s late (or early) and I’m awake. I’m sitting in the green chair in Annie’s room because, in her sleep, she called out for me. And then, as I reached her door, she called out for Maddie. And then she asked for birthday cake. I talk in my sleep, too (you know, when I am actually sleeping). I wonder what she’s dreaming about. For a minute, I let myself imagine that we’re all at a birthday party. Me and my girls.

I can’t let myself do this often…the what-if game is dangerous for me. Plus, in my daydreams Maddie is still 16 months old, and Annie is two years old. I can’t picture what Maddie would look like. She’d be almost four and a half. She’d be so different, in every way.

I want some peace. I want to sleep, and feel rested. I want Maddie to hold her sister’s hand when she calls out for her. I want things to get easier. I want what I can’t have.

Don’t we all.

About these ads