Hi,

Today, my son Zach turns 2 years and 84 days.

That's the exact age I was when my father Marek died.

I've always wondered what I might have experienced when it happened, and what happened after. And looking at Zach today, I finally have some sort of sense of it.

My wonderful son

At this age, I can have a conversation with Zach. It's never a particularly sophisticated conversation, but he clearly shows that he is aware of what's going on around him. That he has wants and needs.

He tries to tell me what happened to him earlier in the day, and even tries to make plans. He often delights me with his surprising observations.

When I or my wife aren't there, he asks where we are. Sometimes he's upset if we're not, and he needs a cuddle as we reassure him we will return.

But he always hears the word "later". You'll see mummy later. Daddy will be here later.

I'm not sure how my mum was able to tell me anything when I asked where my dad was.

I cannot imagine having to tell my little son that he would not be seeing his mother again. I can only say that I would probably break into tears every time he asked.

The body keeps the score

Humans rarely form long-term memories before the age of 3 because the brain structures involved are still too gooey. But our experiences under 3 definitely have subconscious effects on us.

I've been told I hold a pen like my father, that I walk like him, but I don't remember ever observing him do these things. The experience persists somehow.

While I spend this week mulling what I went through as a toddler, and what my mother went through, I am coincidentally reading a book called The Body Keeps The Score by the psychologist Bessel van der Kolk (I reserved it in the library app Libby months ago but it only appeared in my account this week - isn't the universe funny?).

Van der Kolk explains that when we are two-year-olds, our emotional (or mammalian) brain is developing how it works. Difficult or traumatic events in small childrens' lives during this stage can have long-term cognitive effects on their brains, such as numbed emotions and poorer decision-making skills.

Several of the symptoms he mentions sounded eerily familiar when I read about them.

Planning for fatherhood

My father was old when he had me. Ridiculously old by most people's standards.

He only ever changed my nappy one measly time, which is pretty shocking to me. I'm not sure if that was age or laziness.

But I know I loved him, because I can see how my son loves me. And I know I would have felt a deep loss after he disappeared.

Perhaps I would have blamed myself for him going missing from my life. The perverse egotistical logic of toddlers makes everything all about them.

My father knew he would not live to know me that long. It's why he kept writing an autobiography.

So that I would have a sense of who he was. So that my mother would remember too. So that we could share his memories together.

Of course, what he writes isn't objective, and I'm sure he aggrandises much and omits things he'd rather were forgotten.

But it's something. There are many passages like this:

When a vision is born in our soul, we conjure up, namely create the future. There is no ready-made vision for you, my son.

You are free and it's up to you, and you only, what you do with your freedom.

I will have passed on before you will have learnt to accept my helping hand. Alas.

My own fathering plan is to see my son into his 40s, at least. I'm not making a plan B. He'll be forced to learn my charms and my foibles in person.

I can't be certain I'm a good father, but I am a father, here and now, and I plan for things to stay that way for many years to come.

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Many thanks for reading this week. And apologies if it was too personal.

But, in case you're wondering: Yes, I fully expect to have the same emotional reaction when my daughter turns 2 years and 84 days old too.

Look after yourselves,

Adam

Adam Zulawski

TranslatingMarek.com / Other stuff

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