Full breadth of his identity
“Patterns are my existence”
HOT – Searching for “mother.”
NOT – Nausea induced by anxiety.
Last January, my dad suffered a severe accident that resulted in a serious brain injury. Over the past year, my family and I have been finding our way through it. However, I think this is one of our most disconnected times. Communication, understanding, and support are subjective to the individual. Unfortunately, without cohesion or collective intention, this can lead to failure on all fronts.
My dad and I have a strange relationship—tender but, at times, upsetting. Either way, it’s been shocking to witness and interact with his recovery. My dad is a different person now. Lately, I have been trying to identify key memories I have with my dad to help me feel and remember the full breadth of his identity. Here are four.
Key Memory #1
When I was eight years old, I realized that everyone dies eventually. I was hit with the overwhelming fear and grief that my parents would die one day, and I would have to keep living without them. At the time, I was sharing a bunk bed with my sister, and I remember lying there, staring at the popcorn ceiling. I climbed down and found my dad. He held me on the floor, leaning against the door frame. The hallway light was on, and my room was dark; my sister was still asleep in the bottom bunk. He soothed me as I cried.
Key Memory #2
My dad is a great storyteller with a vast imagination. When he drove me and my siblings to school as kids, he would make up stories about our family dog, Max. It was like a comic strip, each car ride presenting a new addition. The most memorable story was when Max helped a woman give birth on a red London bus as the roof tore off going under a bridge.
Key Memory #3
My mum was out of town once, and my dad took the opportunity to rent Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron and Seabiscuit for a double horse feature. None of my siblings liked either movie and to this day, we still make fun of him for such an odd-themed movie night. On the same trip, my dad fed us chocolate cake for dinner. Even though my dad made us breakfast every morning growing up, he’s not really a “cook.” However, he used to have an insatiable, unhinged sweet tooth, so I think chocolate cake made sense to him.
Key Memory #4
My dad has a project-based mind and works very hard to accomplish his goal. Sometimes, his goal is someone else’s happiness. When I choreographed my high school senior dance thesis, I wanted to create a moveable waterfall of books that a dancer could pull on stage, decorated with open books and candles. I worked with my dad, collecting hundreds of books. We had a small corner of the garage where we tested ways to make it happen. He helped me create my vision.
I have been doing these three things recently to help me feel good. You could give them a try (and also feel good)!
Ask for and give out head scratches and massages.
Keep the kettle half-full of water to ensure a constant cycle of hot beverages.
Stock cookie dough (rolled into little balls) in the freezer to plop them in the oven whenever you want a hot cookie!
“‘I have puzzled over your dream. I don’t know what it means. I dream about brain tumors and babies. I am staring out my dirty windows at the lilac buds. Now I am trying to analyze why I put those two things together. Why do you and I do that? Patterns are my existence. Everything has significance. Everything must fit. It’s enough to drive you crazy.’” - Alison Bechdel, Are You My Mother?: A Comic Drama
