The last time I saw my dad was three weeks before he died. Even though my childhood was nowhere near perfect, it felt like I was able to give a little bit of nurturing back and my parents both very much appreciated my practical as well as emotional support. I cooked nourishing food for my mother and held her when she cried.
Caring for his physical needs, sharing these intimate moments with my dad, who I did not feel close to for so many years, felt strange at first, but then, to my surprise, quickly became natural. He couldn’t talk and I tried my best to interpret and meet his physical and emotional needs. Sitting next to his hospital bed – or later with him, in his home – was painful. Each time I wasn’t sure whether I would be too late. Both times I immediately took the plane to Berlin to see him, laden with anxiety and fear. While he was getting treatment he nearly passed away twice.
It wasn’t unexpected as he suffered from a tumour in his throat. This year reality struck and I was reminded how much I still need to do, how much my inner child still needs attention, and how easy it seems to leave past wounds unattended and push problems aside when you live a busy life, trying to meet everybody else´s needs, especially my kids.Īt the beginning of last year, my father died. It’s like looking into the mirror after a sleepless night, expecting to still look awesome. All sorted then?īang! The truth can sometimes feel so much harder and more painful than we think. I did a lot of research, published a book on fatherhood and my wife and I have spent a lot of time reflecting on childhood, schooling, parenting and life. I love being a father and I’ve been supporting other fathers and men for more than 12 years. Normally, I would say that I’m a quite balanced, patient and easy-going dad and man. I feel like a bystander at a party, where everyone is having fun but me. Paralysed I just stand there, watching the scenery.
My nine-year-old sits on the sofa and calls me for the twentieth time to read him his Asterix-comic. At the same time my six-year-old is creating a big mess on the kitchen table when he spreads playdough literally everywhere, including into the food I’ve just prepared. She dances with the socks through the living room, throws them in the air and giggles “no socks, no socks, no socks”. Come on!” (my voice gets louder and more impatient). “Look, I really think you should wear those socks. “Honey, it’s cold, keep them on!!” She takes them off and grins.
“Please keep the socks on!” She takes them off.
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