HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A DREAM WALKING?

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A DREAM WALKING

My mom did … and it wasn’t fun

Now that I’m older, MUCH older and mom has gone to live with dad and my brother in heaven, I can truly appreciate what I put her through. Oh, my! My poor mom!

I don’t really know when it began. But I’ll begin by describing the apartment where I grew up.

The apartment was called a “railroad flat.” The building had three floors with one apartment on each. Ours was on the top and that’s why we had the extra bedroom. Now, to describe it: as soon as you walked in the front door, on your left was the bathroom (tub and toilet – no shower, no sink. They weren’t added until around 1958). On the immediate right was the coat closet.

Talking a few steps ahead, if you veered slightly to your left, you were in the kitchen. If you veered slightly to the right, you were in the dining room.

Once in the dining room, if you turned to your right, was the front bedroom, followed by the second bedroom, and then the living room (that we called the parlor). Once in that room, at the far wall and off to the right was the “hall” bedroom. It was called the hall bedroom because, well, while there was no door leading to the hall, it jutted out from the parlor and was in, well, the hall!

Okay, so now you get the idea. The only bedroom that had a privacy-door was the hall bedroom where my brother slept. My sister and I slept in the front bedroom, our parents had the second room.

As I said, I don’t know when it started, but usually three or four times a week, when my mother would go into my brother’s bedroom to wake him for school, she would notice the corner of his bed was wet.

Oh, that poor boy! Talk about embarrassing moments! Just as often as he’d swear he didn’t wet the bed, my mom would find it wet again.

Then, one night, she was awakened by her bed being jolted. At first, she thought my dad had gotten up for some reason and plopped down in bed again beside her. Just as she was about to drift back to sleep, she heard my dad snore.

Oops, wasn’t him that jostled the bed. She opened her eyes and sat up, just in time to see me enter the living room and head for my brother’s bedroom.

Quickly but quietly, she got out of bed and followed me. Just in time, I should add for her to see me pull down my pajamas and turn to sit on the corner of my brother’s bed.

Without waking my brother, mom grabbed my hand and pulled me to a standing position. She pulled up my pajamas and whispered, “Come on, honey, it’s too dark. I’ll get you to the bathroom.”

The mystery was solved! But now, mom had another dilemma. She knew I’d been sleep-walking but didn’t know how to stop me. She made a quick trip to the pediatrician and asked. At that time, it was thought that a sleepwalker should never be awakened. It was thought that it was mentally dangerous. Well, darn, after all, we are talking about the early 1950s. Poor mom! She was forced to become an extremely light sleeper. No restful, deep sleep for her. She had three worries: my brother’s bed might start developing a horrible smell of “my” urine, my brother might awaken and see me naked from the waist down, I might walk out the door, down the stairs and into the street. (or worse, open a window and climb out).

However, after several months of rerouting my nighttime bathroom breaks, I seemed to be able to navigate my way to the bathroom on my own. My brother’s bed was finally dry and odor free.

Unfortunately, the sleepwalking didn’t stop.

My next escapade didn’t even have me leave my bedroom. My room had a tiny (and I do mean TINY) closet. It probably measured something like three feet x three feet. One night, my mom heard what seemed to be things being tossed around, thrown around, and me grumbling.

As to not wake my dad, she quietly got out of bed and realized the noise was coming from my bedroom. And lo and behold! There I was kneeling in front of the open door of my closet, yanking things out and tossing them, wherever my arms flung them: over my head, sideways across the room, on the bed! I didn’t know and didn’t care.

Mom asked me what I was don’t and without looking at her, I said I needed to find “that paper.” She asked, "what paper?"

According to mom, I replied with, “I don’t know but I know I need to find it.”

Ah! Sleepwalking again was her deduction!

She gently took my hand and said, “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll help you find it tomorrow.”

I let her lead me back to bed where I slept soundly the rest of the night.

My sleepwalking didn’t stop for many years. Mom would awaken to find windows open when she knew she’d closed and locked them the night before. I’d open the refrigerator but never close the door. She’d find the TV on but never turned to a particular channel.

Poor mom! It was as though she had been living with a live, breathing poltergeist. She just never knew what was going to happen.

One day, I guess I was about fourteen, my mom was speaking to a close friend of hers and told her about my nighttime excursions.

“Oh, Mary, I think I know how to help. Al (her husband) had the same problem when he was in the Navy. His commanding officer found a way to stop him. He’s been fine, even after all these years.”

My mom could hardly wait to get home and ask my dad for help in creating what her friend described to her.

Dad’s cousin worked in a factory that used sheet metal. Dad asked him for a piece of metal that would measure approximately two feet by two feet. Dad was specific. He asked his cousin to be sure there were no sharp edges, explaining the purpose of the metal.

Two days later, dad screwed the piece of metal in the floor – right where my feet would land should I get out of bed.

It worked! As soon as my feet touched the cool metal, instinctively, I’d sit back down, pull my feet back on the bed, and didn’t wake up until the morning.

My parents were relieved! Beyond relief, actually! No longer did they have to worry that I might walk out the front door and into the street.

Here I am, sixty-two years later, and I still have something cool next to my side of the bed to stand on – just in case.