I cracked open my eyes, squinting and shielding my face from the blazing nuclear furnace we call the sun. Regrettably, I hadn't properly closed the blinds last night. But, it was a good a sign as any to get up. I pulled myself out of bed and halfheartedly arranged the sheets to be presentable, not that I was expecting anyone today. I was twenty-two, just out of college, and staying at my parents' house while I engaged in the ever-so-important activity of writing job applications to be rejected. All the joys of being an adult. Well, maybe it wasn't so joyful. In fact, it seemed like growing up had come much too fast. Something about me being an adult did not seem quite right. On the inside, I still felt rather like a kid.
A little bit of that inner child did manifest on the outside: I was wearing a DryJams nighttime pullup, much like the ones I used to wear. I had secretly bought a pack and snuck it into the house. Of course, it was dry; I hadn't wet the bed in about ten years. Not at all surprising, but I can't say it wasn't a little disappointing. The pullup wasn't a good fit, as the elastic waistband and tail tape were tight. The tightness wasn't terribly uncomfortable, but it was a reminder that these DryJams were not made for someone my size.
Still, I had an opportunity to engage in a little childishness. There was a pressure in my bladder, which was ready for its morning void. I released the stream of pee into my DryJam, as I had on many mornings as a child. The pullup grew warm and thick, and sagged a little under the weight. That sensation really brought me back. I wiggle my hips a little and felt the squish, enjoying the nostalgia. Another pressure, was present in my gut; I had to poop as well. Did I really want to use my DryJam? Over time, my desire for DryJams had grown into a broader desire for diapers and using them for all intended purposes. But I hadn't yet worked up the guts, so to speak, to use my DryJams for anything but wetting. I was down to the second-to-last DryJam from the pack, and I didn't know when I would have the opportunity to buy more, so I figured I might as well do it.
I tried giving a little push, with my paws on my knees. Nothing. I pushed harder. Still nothing. I definitely knew I had to go, but I just couldn't get myself to go in my pants. That part of potty training was still wired into my brain. I kept trying for a minute or two before giving up and heading to the bathroom. It wasn't worth hurting myself. Once I sat down on the toilet, I went without difficulty. If only it had been that easy a minute ago. I had was just getting ready to start cleaning up when the door suddenly opened. My dad's face briefly appeared in the opening. He gave a surprised ``oof'' and immediately slammed the door. ``Sorry, Rich,'' came his voice from the other side.
``S'ok.'' I replied. ``Just knock next time.''
``Yeah, let me know when you're out.''
My heart was racing; that was too close. Sure, in my current position the sink blocked Dad's view of the sodden pullup around my ankles, but what if he had come in when I was pulling it up or down? I cursed myself for not locking the door. My parents wouldn't throw me out or anything if they found out about this secret, but they'd still probably see it as something wrong with me. It was a conversation I would rather avoid. With that interruption behind me, I finished up in the bathroom, told Dad I was out, and returned to my room. Since my pullup was pretty much finished, put it into a ziploc bag and slipped it into my lidded garbage can.
Once again, I missed the good old days, when I could be diapered without hiding it from my family. With a little sigh, I laid back on my bed and let my mind wander. I imagined myself as a kid again, free to wear and use my diapers or pullups without judgment. Well, that wasn't quite like my actual childhood, but a fox can dream, can't he? My thoughts drifted to other parts of my childhood, like the tall tree that once stood in the neighbor's yard, and the old mom-and-pop shop that was now a dentist's office. Some memories of my grandfather surfaced. I didn't remember him that well, since he passed away when I was only five, but he was rather eccentric old fox. He had been into some occult practices that my parents didn't like to talk about. But still, my mom had held on to some of his books.
Curious, I went down to the basement, where were we kept such mementos. Yeah, it was all a bunch of hocus pocus, but maybe reading about some ``real'' magic would be fun fuel for my fantasies. I scanned the titles on the bookshelf, but all of the books there were rather mundane: classic literature, philosophy, literary discussions, and discussions of literary discussions. Of course, the weird stuff wouldn't be on display. There were a few boxes under grandpa's old desk. Most of them held knick knacks, some other personal affects, and his navy uniform. One of the bottom boxes, however, held his strange books. It was an odd assortment; several of them had odd circles in place of titles, and most were in Latin or used some kind of Eastern or Cyrillic script. At the very bottom was a volume that appeared to be hand-bound. Most of the handwritten title was faded beyond legibility, but I could make out the word ``conjuring.'' Flipping through it, the book appeared to be something of a journal of notes and diagrams. I recognized my grandfather's handwriting from some of his old letters. A few pages looked like they had been taken from other books.
One of these pages was an elaborate circle composed of elaborate spirals with smaller spirals within them. It was drawn with some kind of iridescent ink. On the facing page was a note from my grandfather reading:
The conjuring circle that I have stumbled upon appears to be the real Gateway of Desire, the true vehicle of fulfilling wishes that, when used with the stones, is not subject to the normal limits of conjuration. With
its potential for abuse, I cannot, in good conscience, share this discovery.
Yet, I find such a fundamental power too precious to destroy.
``Stones?'' I thought. I took a second look in the box and dug out a small, gray, drawstring sack. Inside were three gemlike stones: one blue, one green, and one red.
This was something I wanted to examine with more privacy. I returned the boxes to their original places and took the journal and the stones to my room, closing the door behind me. As I carried the open journal across my room and into the sunlight, three equidistant dots matching the colors of the stones appeared around the rim of the circle. Fun trick. I placed the book on the floor, still in the sunlight, and put the corresponding colored stones on the dots. The stones caught the light just right, and a colored beam shot from each stone to the center of the circle. The beams converged, first forming a rainbow ring and then a brilliant white dot at the center. It was beautiful. I couldn't help but reach out and touch it.
In that moment, a sensation shot up my arm. It was difficult to describe; the closest thing I can think of is electricity. Soon it reached my head and filled my ears with a soft buzzing sound. Then, someone spoke to me. I didn't hear a voice, and there were no words exactly, but rather the ideas behind the words were sent to my head. As best as I can ``translate'' it said:
``Hello, grandson of Adrian. Through your mind, I have has a new taste of the physical world. In exchange, I will grant you one desire.''
``Wait, this is real? And you can grant wishes?'' I replied.
``I am not a genie but, in a sense, yes. Now, what is your desire?''
``Um...'' I thought back to my wishes from earlier, and felt sharp embarrassment.
``Do not let shame be a barrier. I do not judge.''
I swallowed my pride, ``Well, I miss being a kid, and I want to wear and use diapers, or at least my DryJams, without being judged.''
``You wish to be a baby?'' I could feel the entity, whatever it was, tickling my mind. Vague but familiar images of diapers and my childhood flashed by in a corner of my mind.
``Not a baby, not quite.'' I thought of all the movies and TV shows where a granted wish went wrong. ``But I also don't want to get stuck in a situation if it starts to go wrong.''
``So, you want the ability to experience a childhood in diapers, but with the control to change the experience?''
``Yeah, that sounds about right.''
``Very well.'' The entity was silent for a moment, and the continued, ``I think I have something that will work for you. Remove your hand from the circle.''
As soon as I did this, the circle began to glow with a shimmering, swirling rainbow. A rectangular object slowly rose from the pool of light. Once it had fully emerged, it hovered a fraction of an inch above the circle. The glow ceased, though the light from the stones remained, and the object toppled onto the page. I picked it up. It was made of dark gray plastic and resembled a small remote control. On its face, instead of buttons, were four vertically-aligned wheels labeled ``Physical,'' ``Potty training,'' ``Daywear,'' and ``Nightwear.'' Below each wheel were two digital displays labeled ``yrs'' and ``mos,'' currently set to 22 years, 9 months. This whole arrangement of wheels and displays was enclosed in a square white border with the word ``Age'' at the top. Near the top of the device, on the side, were two sliding switches labeled ``Lock settings'' and ``Lock age ratios.''
``What is this?'' I asked, though I had a good guess.
``As the labels show,'' the entity replied, ``this device will let you control your age, potty training, and whether you wear diapers, pullups, or underwear.''
I paused. ``What about not being judged? I think my parents would notice if I suddenly became a little kid.'' My reply sounded a little more sarcastic than I had meant.
``The perceptions of those others will change with you. Whatever state you enter for yourself, those around you will perceive as normal.''
My fur stood on end a little as I realized the kind of power I was dealing with. ``So, you're giving me a powerful, reality-warping device because I want to wear diapers?''
``I only fulfill desires; I do not judge them.'' It may have been my imagination, but I thought that last reply carried a hint of indignation.
I looked around on the floor and in the book. ``Do I get some kind of manual?''
``You did not come seeking instructions; I cannot grant you more than this.''
``But - '' I began.
``The rules of the device are simple, and you're a smart fox. You'll figure it out. Our contract is now finished. Enjoy your gift.'' I could feel the entity leave as the light left the center of the circle.
I put the book and the stones in the closet, making sure they were well hidden, and went back to examine the device, ready to experiment. I cautiously turned the top-left wheel, labeled ``physical'' down and it gave a small click, changing the displayed age to 22 years, 8 months. The other three wheels turned by the same amount, with the same reduction in age. At the same time, I felt what could best be described as a slight negative pressure in my body, like a balloon deflating. I turned it another click with the same result. I looked around my room, but nothing had changed. I quickly dialed my age down by 10 clicks, and my age went down to 21 years, 9 months; a 10-month reduction. This time, the negative pressure was a bit more intense. When I looked around, I noticed that the books I kept from my senior year were gone. I pushed the dial back up, and I felt a positive pressure and the books returned. I could not push the dial above my ``real'' age of 22 years, 9 months. Then, I noticed that the other three wheels has not back gone up with my physical age, but I was able to turn them back up manually.
I started to fiddle with the top-right wheel labeled ``Potty training'' along with the physical age wheel. I found that if I turned it down, my ``Daywear'' and ``Nightwear'' ages changed accordingly, but did not go back up with it, while my physical age stayed them same. If I tried pushing it above my physical age, it would stop. Continuing to experiment in this manner revealed a sort of hierarchy, with each dial setting a maximum age for the ones below it. The daywear age set the maximum nightwear age, potty training similarly limited daywear and nightwear, and physical age limited them all.
Next, I decided to test the locks. The ``Lock all ages'' switch was straightforward: when it was locked, none of the wheels would budge. I suspected I knew what the ``Lock age ratios'' switch did, so, to make the math easy, I set my physical age to exactly 20 years and all others to 15. With the age ratios locked, I dialed my physical age down to 18 years. The other dials went down to 13 years, 6 months. When I dialed my age back up, the others went up accordingly, but I could only directly move the physical age dial. My guess was pretty much right: this kept all the age settings in the same ratios to the nearest month.
I played with this setting a bit more, turning my physical age down to 16 years and my other ages down to 12. This was the youngest I had been and the effect showed. I felt the strongest negative pressure yet, and lost a few inches of height. I saw college-level books replaced with high school ones. I knew it was some months after my 12th birthday when I stopped wearing DryJams, so now was the moment of truth. I looked in my closet and, sure enough, there were two packages of large-size DryJams, one of them unopened. Yes! I was back in DryJams at night! It was time to take the plunge and see what this device could do.
I dialed my age down another four years and one shelf of books was replaced with toys and my DryJams went down a size, changing from generic stripes to a sports design. My clothes shrank with me as well. Continuing to reduce my age brought my DryJams size down again and, as my age reached 7 years, 2 months, the DryJams were replaced with Tug-Ups training pants. I had been rather small as a kid, so I guess these fit me. The idea of wearing training pants, not just bedwetting pants for older kids, excited me. It made me feel like such a little kid. Adding to this feeling, my clothes became more childish as I got younger, sporting designs such as superheroes, racecars, and dinosaurs. My surroundings also changed, as the books, toys, and decorations became more childish.
The next big change came as I went under 6 years old or, more accurately, my potty training and other ages went under 4 years, 6 months: I felt my underwear thicken. Even before I unzipped my pants to look, I knew I was wearing a Tug-Up. A quick check showed that my underwear drawer contained only packages of Tug-Ups; I was now in pullups 24/7. Still curious and increasingly excited, I continued decreasing my age. As my potty trainig an related ages went below 3 years, 6 months, some of my Tug-Ups were replaced with Cubbies overnight diapers. Actual diapers! Finally, as my daywear age went below 3 years, my remaining Tug-Ups disappeared, replaced by more Cubbies, and I felt another thickening of my ``underwear.'' A quick check confirmed it: I was now just under 4 years old and wearing a diaper.
I was very excited about exploring this, but, for the moment, I wanted to do a little more ``big kid'' stuff. I dialed my physical age back up to 8 years. This, of course, brought my potty training and other ages up to 6 years, and my diaper shifted to a pullup and then to regular underwear. Well, I still wanted to have more fun on the ``little kid'' end of things, so I dialed my potty training age down to 4 years. My underwear thickened once again, becoming a DryJam. Another check of my underwear drawer showed that it held nothing but packs of DryJams.
A grumbling in my stomach told me it was time for lunch. Heck, in all the excitement, I had skipped breakfast. This was my chance to see how others around me had changed. I came into the kitchen to find Mom pouring herself a cup of coffee. She also looked a bit younger. She must have heard me come in, since she turned and greeted me, ``Oh, hello, Riddy. Nice to see you finally out of your room. I didn't even see you come down for breakfast.'' So, I guess me being eight years old was the new reality, now. I was even back to my old nickname. She continued, ``If you're hungry for lunch, Dad left an extra tuna sandwich in the fridge for you.''
I thanked her and I went to the fridge, but when I opened the door and saw the sandwich sitting there, it suddenly seemed unappealing. So, instead, I grabbed two more slices of bread and slathered them with peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. I got to enjoy the creamy sweetness of my first fluffernutter in at least ten years. This was just another way of embracing the kid I had become again. I doubt a twentysomething would face any harsh judgment for eating a fluffernutter, but it still might be seen as as non-quite age appropriate. But my current age was perfect for it. My taste buds had gotten younger as well, giving me more of a sweet tooth and making the sandwich that much more enjoyable. Although, all that sugar did make me thirsty, so I made sure to have a glass of water with it. The next part of my meal, the required fruit or vegetable, was an apple that I slowly munched on. About half way through that, I suddenly felt the urge to pee, and soon I was squirming in my seat. Mom apparently noticed and asked ``Riddy, do you have to go potty?''
``No,'' I said reflexively, but after further thought, ``Yes.'' I felt my cheeks grow hot and my ears lay flat. It wasn't a question normally asked of an 8-year-old, but, thanks to the magic of the remote, I was less potty-trained than that.
``Then, go on,'' Mom replied. ``Don't use your pullup.''
At her prompting, I rushed off to the bathroom, a bit of a potty dance in my step. I made it just in time; almost as soon as my pants were down, I released a stream into the toilet. I didn't pee a lot, thought it had certainly felt like more waiting to come out. Had I not made it, this would have been well within my pullup's capacity. It made me wonder why I had gone to that much trouble to get to the toilet. And yet, I felt a bid of pride for making it to the potty like a big boy.
``I made it, Mom!'' I said on my return, as if this task, usually taken for granted in an eight-year-old, had been an achievement.
``Well done, Riddy!'' was Mom's response.
Well, apparently it was an achievement in my current state. I finished my apple, and Mom broke off a piece of a chocolate bar as a reward for making it to the potty. I thought about what I was going to do next. I wasn't sure what my status in the neighborhood was now, so I was apprehensive about meeting other kids. Maybe I could hunt bugs in the yard? Dark clouds loomed to the west, threatening rain. So that left only a few options. ``Mom, can I play some video games?''
``Sure, just remember to take a break and be down in time for dinner.''
I returned to my room and booted up my GameBox to play Piratoids, where I had to stop mutant pirates from taking over the seas. Back in my high school and college days, I had actually taken to speedrunning the game, but now, in my regressed state, I was finding it harder. I was back to playing like a kid. Still, I wasn't all that bad at it, and I was able to complete a few missions. Time flew by and I soon found myself fighting the first major boss, Captain Gamma. He was tough when I fought him years ago and he was tough once again. I died on my first try, and the second, and the third. Rain lashed my bedroom windows, seeming to match the storm in the game. On the fourth try, I started to feel the pressure build in my bladder again, but I pressed on, determined to beat that boss. It was a bit difficult to focus now, and the rain, both real and virtual, probably didn't help matters. I died once again and went in for round five. Of course, I had not quite gotten used to having the bladder control of a 4-year-old and, with my divided attention, I didn't hold out for very long. The warmth and wetness soon spread through by pullup as the pressure relived itself. This was enough of a distraction that for me that Captain Gamma landed a killing blow, and I sat there, a little shocked as the ``Game Over'' screen came on. I was a bit embarrassed and then excited at my accident. I had just peed my pants like a little kid. The pullup had contained it all but that's what it was for after all. Comforted a bit, by the warmth and thickness of the wet pullup, I pressed on with the game and finally beat the boss on my sixth try with a sliver of health to spare.
After my victory, I decided to stretch a bit and rest my eyes. I mulled over whether I should change my pullup or wait a bit, but my thoughts were interrupted when Mom called me downstairs. She was waiting by the front door.
``Riddy, the roast we were going to have tonight is spoiled. We're going to have to run to the store and get something else.''
``Alright.'' I said.
``Do you have to go potty before we go?''
``No,'' I replied with a bit of a blush.
``Is your pullup still dry?'' Mom put her hands on her hips
``No.'' I blushed harder.
Mom paused, as if choosing her words carefully, and gave a little sigh ``Well, go get changed. Just try a but harder to make it to the potty next time.''
I gave a quick ``Okay'' and ran back upstairs. After I changed and put my pants back on, I picked up the remote and thought about whether I should bring it with me. I didn't think I'd be using it, but I was nervous about leaving it unattended. I jammed it in my pocket, which turned out to be a mistake. There was a series of rapid clicks as one of the wheels caught on my pocket and turned. The negative pressure returned and I lost quite a few inches of height as my surroundings became more childish. My pants changed to overalls and the remote clattered to the floor, forced out by my shrinking pocket. I immediately reached to pick it up, a little too quickly. I didn't give myself a moment to adjust to my new height and I stumbled a bit. It would have been a minor stumble, but I accidentally kicked the remote, sending it spinning under the bed.
I got down on my belly to try and get it back, but it had gone between between some boxes and was up against the far wall, beyond my reach. It looked like I could get to it if I moved the boxes, but that would take a few minutes. In the meantime I was still able to read the settings; I had regressed to 5 years, 3 months and my other ages, having kept the same ratio, were at 2 years, 8 months. I pulled back my overalls and looked down, past my racecar-themed T-shirt; I was now wearing a diaper. A package of size-5 Cubbies was also visible in my closet.
``Hurry up, Riddy, I want to beat the traffic,'' Mom called from downstairs.
``Coming!'' I figured I could get the remote when we came back.
I quickly put on my socks and velcro shoes. The storm had cleared, so there was no need for raincoats. At the car, Mom picked me up and put me in a car seat. Now thoroughly strapped in, I really felt like a little kid. I was more restrained than I would be with a normal seat belt, and the straps pressed a bit against my diaper, just enough to be a constant reminder of its presence. The ride was largely uneventful at first and we only hit a little bit of congestion. Then I started to feel the urge to pee again. This time, however, my bladder was even weaker. I didn't have much time to think about trying to get to a bathroom (though there would be little point, regardless), when I started wetting the diaper. It grew warm and got a little bulkier, but it was more absorbent than my pullups and quickly wicked away the wetness. By that point I felt like little more than a slightly-oversized toddler: stuck in a carseat, wearing overalls and a diaper, and helplessly wetting myself. On one hand this feeling was embarrassing, but, on the other, it was comforting. Something about it just felt right, like this is how things should be. With my diaper on, I didn't have to worry about making it to the potty and, because of the remote's magic, I wasn't expected to.
Soon, we arrived at the store. I was a little self-conscious about being diapered, at my age, in public, but from a quick check of my overalls, there wasn't a noticeable bulge. I grinned slightly at this thought, like it was my dirty little secret. Mom grabbed a small shopping cart, one without a seat, so I had to walk alongside her. The dinner she picked out was a rotisserie chicken. ``Might as well get a few other things while we're here,'' she said, a bit distractedly.
We walked up and down the aisles and Mom grabbed a few odds and ends from the shelves: juice boxes, cereal, dish soap, and the like. It couldn't have taken more than a few minutes, but being regressed seemed to stretch my perception of time a bit, and it felt like much longer. My stamina had also been reduced quite. ``Mom, my legs are tired,'' I whined. It had just kind of slipped out, like the regression had stripped away some of my inhibitions.
``Don't worry hun, just a couple more things.''
My tired legs were not the only sensation I had to contend with. A new pressure started to build, this time in my bowels. It was a little worrying, since I already knew how little bladder control I had, and I didn't have high hopes for how long I could hold out. Of course, I'd figured I would try going number 2 in my diapers or pullups at some point, but a public accident is not what I had in mind, and certainly not on my first go, no pun intended. So, I tried to tough it out and hold it like a big boy. Yes. I was five-and-a-quarter. That's a big kid, right? Never mind the slight crinkle as I walked. Totally a big kid. Though, it might help to get home soon. ``Can we go home now, Mom?'' I asked.
``Shh, almost done here.''
We entered the diaper aisle, and Mom put a couple packs of Cubbies and some wipes in the cart. This earned a blush from me, both because the diapers were on public display, and because they were a reminder of my current predicament. They almost seemed to taunt me: you're just a baby; go ahead and use your diaper. The need was becoming urgent. The pressure wasn't all that strong, but I could feel that I was rather weak ``down there.'' A little desperate, I thought to let Mom know about the situation. I tried to tell her quietly ``Mom, I have to poop,'' but what came out instead was, ``Mom, I'm gonna poop!'' and quite a bit louder than I intended. Darn kid voice. Fortunately, nobody else was in the aisle, although a badger passing the end shot us a stern look.
Mom seemed a bit embarrassed by this too, but tried to comfort me me, stroking my ears ``Shhh, it's okay. I can change you as soon as we check out.'' She planted a kiss on my nose. Not exactly the reassurance I was looking for.
As if on cue, my body gave a small, involuntary push and I started to fill the back of my diaper. Mom watched, certainly able to tell what I was doing. Tears started to well up in my eyes. I didn't mind the messy diaper itself, but shame the shame of a public accident was, in the moment, greater than whatever pleasure I got from it. This was too much too fast. I wished I had the remote to age myself up a bit; I was helpless without it.
I barely noticed as Mom paid for the groceries and, before I knew it, I was on the changing table in the restroom.
``Are you okay, Riddy? I haven't seen you this upset over just a stinky diaper. Are you embarrassed?'' Mom asked gently.
I nodded; the words just wouldn?t come to me.
``Well, it's nothing to worry about. You're just not potty trained yet. It's perfectly normal for to use your diapers and just what I expect. You'll always be my baby.''
That actually made me feel better, and I wiped the tears from my eyes as Mom finished up with the change. Soon I was back in the comfort of a fresh diaper.
The ride home was uneventful. Because Mom had done the shopping, Dad set up the table for dinner when we got home. Along with the chicken, we had some rice and peas. Now, normally I would have been perfectly content with a dinner like this, and the chicken and rice were perfectly fine. Unfortunately, with my child's taste buds, I did not find the peas nearly so palatable. Dad saw my reluctance and said ``Eat up, Riddy and you can have ice cream.''
Spurred on by this encouragement, I summoned all the willpower I could and ate the peas quickly. That way, I could flush the taste out with the remaining chicken. With the hard part out of the way, the rest of dinner went quite easily and it was time for the much-anticipated dessert. It was vanilla-chocolate ice cream, which to the mouth of a five-year-old, was absolutely delicious. With dinner and dessert out of the way, I was quite full and getting sleepy, though I still wasn't quite ready for bed. I sat down on the couch with my parents and we watched Beauty and the Human. I only sort of followed it with how tired I was. At one point, I felt the need to pee again, but it barely registered before I felt it flow into my diaper, and the whole thing was quickly forgotten.
Eventually, I had trouble keeping my eyes open and Mom took me upstairs to the bathroom. She took off my clothes and diaper and filled the bathtub. I absentmindedly pushed a boat back and forth as she washed my fur. After the scrubbing I got during the bath, I felt a little more awake as I walked to my room. I thought briefly of trying to get the remote back, but Mom soon had me up on my bed and was changing me into my nighttime diaper. At this rate, I probably wasn't going to get ahold of the remote tonight. I didn't want to attract Mom's attention to it. She might take it away and leave me stuck as a diaper-dependent five-year-old. I mean, that wouldn't be too bad, but I didn't want to lose more control of the situation than I already had. Even worse, she might fiddle with, it and who knows how I might end up then. I yawned as Mom tucked me in, lulled my the smell of a fresh diaper and baby powder. Spending the night like this wouldn't be bad, I thought. She got a book out and started reading. It started as a story about a wolf that was friends with a horse, or was it a unicorn? As my eyelids grew heavy, words started to lose their meaning until I was only aware of the sound of Mom's voice, and then, nothing but dreams.
