A glimpse into his mind that he can no longer articulate.
There’s a part of the story that I want to be told from his perspective…
Every word he didn't publish helps to tell his (story).
In a way, it’s as if my dad has left me a gift. A glimpse into his mind that he can no longer articulate.
Please allow me to, Clareifi 🎙️:
A few months before his Alzheimer’s diagnosis, he would regularly talk about starting a blog for his freelance writing business. He kept notes about everything he found interesting in what ended up being multiple spiral notebooks.
Health & Science, Psychology & Philosophy, Culture & Race, Poetry & Creative writing, and multiple short story ideas that he had brewing. A creative yet scattered outline of what could have been the culmination of his literary ambitions. A tenured journalist, a published poet & author, he had it in him, but now, his mind wasn’t cooperating.
Hey, man, you think you could help me start a blog?
We would talk in circles. He was hung up on where to publish / what platform to use where his work would be safe, or as he put it,
How do I make sure that nobody steals my shit?
I was trying to help him by giving him ideas about branding, marketing & monetization.
I’m not a writer.
My frustration lingers even now as I type this. I should have been more patient. I should have educated myself about what was happening to him. I shouldn’t have gotten so frustrated with him.
We didn’t get anything done.
Life continued changing into the very things that he wanted to write about; his health. The science of Alzheimer’s, the philosophy of death.
He wanted to keep telling stories.
That was my dad.
In one of those old spiral notebooks, he wrote;
Make the crux of my articles based on critical thinking. Philosophy – The principles of clear and ordered thinking.
This is, Clareifi.