Vicki's Voice

Many of us with FTD suffer from strange dreams that are part good, part frightening as we are 1/2 awake and yet, somehow, still asleep. My first post on Facebook was about ‘Trazadone Dreams’ and I recconed it to the ‘Amazing Bubble Plastic’ ballons that we could create as kids. Stinky, maybe lethal, but we were kids and like glass blowers, made these oddities they advertised as balloons, but looked like kidneys, lungs, liver not quite without our twist to make the umbilical cord cease to exist. They kinda sorta floated, but mostly stuck to upolstered furniture or carpeting, where we all stood staring not sure what to do with them. Some stayed for days. Some would deflate into a goober gluey substance that sent our mothers over the edge with glares at the innocent father who succumbed to our darling-ness at the store. Either way, the Amazing, Elastic Bubble Plastic stuck with us, one way or another, for a long time.

So, imagine as you go to sleep you are puffed into that elastic balloon just before sleep, or just before rising. You can’t tell real from dream, nor punch your way out of it. It can magnify your worst real life nightmares, shame laden. Or, it can make you think you are still on the time clock but late and will lose your job. Or, it can be with long since passed siblings, grandparents and parents – where you hope the bubble plastic never breaks. You are at peace, and laughing, and healthy and whole. Somehow, even as a child, you watch your children and grandchildren play, and romp, and roll about the grass. And your Mimi and Pompa, hug you tenderly from behind. And you just want to never come out of that dream. Ever. You are in a canoe, or fly fishing from the bank, or eating Kewpie’s cheeseburgers (plain) with your Dad in Mt. Pleasant, sharing a chocolate malted. And you stand, all 2.5 feet of you, between them in the Merc, and life is bliss…

More and more I am called into that sleep, even with the dangers that could be there. Like sirens beckoning to the seamen, I risk the rocks to find a place of peace. A sense of home.

Papa? Is this a glimpse of what lies ahead, or just me wishing? Avoiding the reality that is awaiting me.

I’m here, Papa Are you listening?

Love, Vicki

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