Last summer my Dad suffered a traumatic brain injury. We have no idea what happened. A passerby found him semi-conscious besides a bike trail a few feet away from his overturned bike. Later, when he was better, he examined the helmet he’d worn the day of the accident. He found a few dents; these were small, nothing to suggest the brain injury that put him in the hospital for nearly a month.
We worried his stay would to be much longer. Honestly, we thought that he might die, or spend the rest of his life gathering dust in the corner of a nursing home. Gradually, however, he began to reemerge from the fog of injury. We knew that he’d be changed forever, and he came to understand this as well. Sometimes he couldn’t remember my Mom’s name. The big cathedral that sits on a hill above downtown St. Paul, one of that city’s few really recognizable landmarks, was visible from his room in the ICU. “Hey, Sam,” he asked, “what’s that?” He’s lived in Minnesota most of his life.
The most painful moment came when, prompted by the doctor if he had any questions about his treatment, he asked, “What did I used to be like?”
But just as dramatic as the accident was his recovery. A week after asking us to describe what we feared was his old personality, that personality had more or less returned. He did the crossword, he complained about the food, and took on the physical and mental rehab with ease.
It’s been five months since the accident. He was recently cleared to drive. He’s always been in excellent shape for his age. His main hobby has always been exercise — biking, cross-country skiing, running. He’s back to cross country skiing, although he wears a helmet now. Who knows if he’ll get back on his bike once the winter is over. I hope he doesn’t.
“It’s like nothing happened,” friends and family often remark. Of course, my Dad doesn’t feel that way.
He’s in his mid-seventies and, although, he’s never said it, I suspect for the first time that he feels his age.
Recently he suffered a second fall. It was nothing as serious as the other one; he was home that evening. He had a cold. When he went to walk the dog, he felt his legs buckling beneath him, so he sat down to avoid smacking his head on the icy sidewalk. When he tried to stand back up, he couldn’t. A scary thing, but not too serious. I could tell it bothered my Dad though. It wouldn’t have happened before the accident.
“It’s like nothing happened” is an on-going project about my Dad’s recovery. The following portraits show my Dad grappling with his accident and reckoning with old age.
