Parallel Me

Somewhere out there, there is a parallel me.  A Lisa whose hair doesn't frizz 5 seconds after straightening.  Whose has a style that consist of more then "the target sales rack".  She isn't still carrying 15 pounds of baby weight, swearing she's working on it - meanwhile she's oscillating between binges at the gym and Jack in the Box.  Her nails are manicured, her pores are small.  She isn't afraid to wear skirts, even on windy days.  She owns at least one pair of designer jeans and never wears granny panties.

She married the love of her life, has a challenging and fulfilling career and two beautiful children, with hope of more of the way.  She doesn't have any tattoos, let alone three memorial tattoos.  She can exchange more then two words with her husband without it dissolving into a rage filled power struggle.  She knows, generally speaking, what the next 5, 10, 15, or 20 years of her life will look like and isn't deeply depressed at the idea of living the suburban stereotype.  She stills believes she can change the world.

Her best friends call to talk politics or movies or whatever normal girls talk about.  Her phone never rings at 1 in the morning so she can spend 3 hours sobbing with a woman she's never met who just lost her child.

She goes to church and know that her God really does love her.  She is never overwhelmed by how much she really does want to believe in a merciful loving God who answers prayers, but is constantly reminded that he completely failed to listen while we prayed for Maddie and has since abandoned her completely.  She has no idea that he is mean and angry and heartless.  That even under grace, he is still the God of the old testament and is pouring forth a portion of his wrath, right now, on top of her head. (keep your rhetoric to yourself if you are tempted to respond to that one).

She is kind and giving and balanced.  She has no idea that the second year after a child's death is suppose to be much harder - there is no longer enough numbness or denial to hold onto.  Just a vast emptiness.  And she isn't struggling every day to figure out what can possibly fill that emptiness, meanwhile dragging everyone she loves along on a crazy heartbreaking train wreck that may not end well, if it ever does.

She does not suffer from depression or PTSD or existential crises.  She isn't being ironic when her FB post reads "fender bender today - worse day ever".

Or even if she isn't all of this, she knows she has Dillan and that should be enough.  And she isn't filled with gut-wrenching guilt that he isn't and she still needs more...from herself, from the world, from life.

I hate parallel me, but l also envy her so.  Simple stupid bitch.