How much I miss me has been rolling around in my head a lot lately.
The me that laughs more and has boundless energy. The me that never misses a birthday and calls just because. The me that has a jersey for every single team her kids play on and drops sweet, silly notes in lunch boxes. The me that sings along to songs on her iPod and blogs about funny stuff her kids say. I never knew how much I liked Miss Me until this me moved in.
This me eats too much fast food and not enough vitamins. This me hasn't had a good day at work in longer than she can remember. This me absolutely, positively cannot get out of bed when the alarm goes off. This me drops off at school and makes dinner, but only because she's supposed to. This me has a back injury and a bad attitude. This me is no damn fun at all.
I miss me. That's what I've been thinking lately.
And then at 2:13 am today this me died. In a dream. And it seemed so real that she woke up crying hysterically and could not console herself. This me was wearing my pajamas and my wedding ring when she died. She looked like me and sounded like me, but she was truly sick and helpless. She had the same precious children and terrific husband. Her sweet son was sitting with her and talking to her, but as she was dying he pulled away from her. He clung to his Dad and sister in consolation and left her to die. Alone. Who she was caused them too much pain to stay.
For a few hours in the earliest part of the morning, this me prayed and cried and held her children when they slept. The reality of her desperation engulfed her and she could not sleep or think or stop crying. This me realized she needs to move past the medicine and specialists and dim outlook on the world and pull it together. This me knows that she's got it good and it's time to start acting like it.
This me died in a dream today and scared Miss Me back to life.
Welcome home, Miss.