The Daughter Becomes the Mother

“Dad, have you taken your medication today?” I ask my dad, treating him like I’m his mother. He responds with a look of guilt as he pulls the bottle out of his pocket to take a pill. 

My dad developed epilepsy in 2009. His seizures weren’t always bad, but after living in California for five years, the heat had triggered something in his brain. He began having them more frequently. When we moved back to Eugene, he thought his seizures might slow down due to the weather change, but he was wrong.

“Dad, you know you need to take it,” I say as my brain goes back to that chilly January night almost three years ago.

This January night in particular had felt strange all day. My dad had seized the night before, but it was a small one and my mom, sister, and I had been there to help him. He had been acting weird all day, but because of the seizure from the previous night, I shrugged it off. 

I was in my room watching “Friends” when I heard a giant thud, followed by screaming. It was about nine at night, so I figured my mom might’ve broken something. When I went downstairs to check, I discovered the door ajar and my parents nowhere to be found. I poked my head outside and saw something I’ll never forget: my dad laid out on the cement with blood spilling out of his head, while my mom was trying to keep him to the side so he wouldn’t choke on himself. 

I screamed and started freaking out. My flight or fight mode kicked in and I got on the phone with the police. The moments before they arrived are a blur, but I remember pleading for him to stay sitting and to relax, just like a parent would when their child gets hurt. 

When the ambulance arrived, he was uncooperative, as he usually is after a seizure, but we finally managed to convince him to get in and go to the hospital. 

He was placed in the ICU for three days and was required to have emergency surgery for his internal brain hemorrhaging. 

Over those few days, not knowing if he was going to survive made me sad. The thought of losing my dad made me weak. Visiting him in the hospital was the hardest thing to do, especially when he was asleep and all we could do was sit there, holding his hand, praying he’d make it. He managed to make it out alive, but he was left with permanent brain damage in his short term memory and language sectors of the brain and many staples keeping his head together. He looked rough, but he was alive, and I was grateful for that. 

“Dad, I know it’s hard to remember, but you have to find a way. You need to take it. Mom, Tevia, and I can’t risk losing you again,” I say as my lip trembles with fear and my eyes slowly fill with tears. He gives me a look I can’t comprehend as he figures out what to say.

I don’t know how he’s going to react. He might forget about this whole conversation within the next 5 minutes. Since he got hurt, his memory has been horrible, and we are all constantly reminding him of things that happened very recently that he has no recollection of. Not only that, but sometimes we have to help him figure out what he’s trying to say as he’s saying it. I know I can’t expect him to be fully capable, as he did leave with permanent brain damage, but it’s hard to try and figure out what’s going on in his brain. It feels very stressful, almost like trying to talk to a baby.

“I promise, I’ll try my best to remember. I’m not ready to leave you guys behind just yet.” He smiles in the most comforting way, patting the pocket holding the medication. 

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, kiddo. Always.” He wraps me in his signature scent and his comforting hug, reminding me to breathe and cherish my time with him.