Sleep Tight

“Good night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.
If they bite, squeeze them tight and save the blood for another night.”

I fondly recall my father saying that to me at bedtime, delivering the last line with an impish grin. I passed the tradition on, reciting both lines for our kids. I oftenwished them “sweet dreams” at bedtime as well.

Lately I am having what might be considered “sweet dreams” almost every night. Like the one where a hiker friend of ours showed me his artwork. On one page of a spiral bound pad was a Berenstain Bear type character nodding his head, on another page was a car backing out of a parking spot, both with actual movements as if they were gifs on a printed page. Pretty sweet!

There were other sweet elements of that dream, as well as the others I am having. They all involve some type of adventure, usually hiking, always outdoors. Many include Cindy partially recovering from Alzheimer’s.

The persistence of these “sweet dreams” becomes a little disconcerting over time. I am reminded of the Narnian island of dreams driving shipwrecked sailors crazy. They became desperate for the chance to sleep without dreams again. I am developing that same longing. They say dreams are the subconscious processing what the waking conscious does not or will not, but I get the message already.

I used to think about hiking every day until a few years into our marriage. Then I focused on the daily routines of family, community and work to the exclusion of past memories or future fantasies of adventure. I eventually questioned whether I would be long distance hiking again or not.

Walking across the country to reboot Cindy’s life and brain health revived my thirst for adventure. For the next few years I fantasized about future long distance hikes. Then the daily routine of a full time caregiver began to crowd out those fantasies once again, the cycle renewed.

Only this time I know the thirst for adventure will come back to me when the situation permits. Until then my subconscious dreams keep percolating what my waking conscious neglects. I suppose that being an adventurer defines so much of who I am that my mind will not, cannot, let me abandon that entirely. So I dream.

Ah, but why does Cindy’s recovery visit a few of these dreams … and why only a few? What does my mind need to process with her occasional visits? My best guess is striking a balance between hope and false hope.

Some people claim that false hope is better than no hope. Others warn not to encourage false hope. Based on personal experience, I side with the latter. False hopes are prone to being dashed, which can be devastating.

False hope for something in the future also detracts from living fully in the present. I trust that if you live fully in the present, the future will be better as well. On a long distance hike you focus on the journey, not obsess over the destination.

So I focus on my caregiver journey with Cindy and leave the future to my dreams, with an occasional miracle thrown in. Even so, I am nearing a threshold. I long for nights when, rather than “sweet dreams,” I can “sleep tight” … preferable without the bedbugs.