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.
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.