Vision IV

“Dad, what’s my name?” I asked gently, trying to test how far in it he was. He studied me for a moment and then smiled.
“You’re Joy.” He said, with a look that said, see? I’m not crazy. I smiled back, but I felt sad. I was happy that he remembered my mother and was talking about her, a rare occurrence. It was terrible that he had this gruesome and untrue picture in his mind of how she died. It was one of the symptoms of the disease that he had often suffered from, vivid visions or dreams of events that didn’t happen, without exception violent and disturbing. Why the visions were always bad ones, I don’t know. I learned to take them as they came, and tried to help my Dad through them.