Fatherhood, Memory, and a Year I Got Back - Series Part 2

As I sit here holding Lucy for her one-year needles, I’m fighting back tears.

Not because I’m holding her while she gets her needles, but because this moment marks one full year of having a baby that I actually remember.

That’s 365 days with my own little human — remembering her first smile, her first “dadda”, and now her first needles. And that realisation has hit me harder than I expected.

If you haven’t read my other parenting blogs, you may not know that in 2018 I was assaulted at work and sustained a brain injury that affected my memory. While I was recovering from that injury, my wife and I had two children — and to this day, I don’t remember their first birthdays.

I would strongly recommend reading Part One of this series to understand the background before continuing:

https://www.twoheartsqld.com/post/fatherhood-memory-and-the-moments-i-got-back-reupload

Since my last parenting blog, Lucy has turned one, my little boy has started pre-prep, and my oldest daughter has finished prep. The last six months have been a journey — full of development, big emotions, and at times a real whirlpool of behaviours.

But what I want to focus on in this blog is the last six months and something I can finally say with confidence:

I now know what it feels like to be a father to a newborn and a toddler.

As I mentioned in my previous blog, one of the most exciting — and emotional — parts of being a parent is experiencing all the “firsts”. Over the last six months, we’ve had plenty of them.

Lucy is officially a runner. I’m convinced she skipped the walking stage entirely and went straight into full zoom-zoom mode. One minute she’s standing still, the next she’s running to the front door because she can see that I’ve just gotten home from work.

The feeling that brings is hard to put into words. Seeing all three kids run out to welcome me home — the excitement, the noise, the pure joy — stops me in my tracks every single time. It’s one of those moments that reminds me exactly why being present matters so much.

Her favourite word is “daddad”, and she uses it constantly. It melts my heart — even on the days when she says it so many times it does my head in. I wouldn’t change it for the world.

With each of these firsts, my emotions have been mixed. I feel incredibly happy in the moment — but also sad, knowing I missed these same experiences with my older two children.

From a connection point of view, being able to experience these firsts with Lucy has created an incredibly strong bond. Not in a “loving one child more than the others” way, but on a deeper understanding and bonding level. It’s about being present, aware, and able to truly hold those moments.

After Part One of this series was published, something unexpected happened\

My wife read the blog. She came over, gave me a hug, and asked me to sit down because she wanted to talk. I’ll be honest — my first thought was that I was in trouble. But instead, the conversation took a completely different turn.

She wanted to share parts of our story that I had never truly heard before.

She spoke about something that has quietly become part of our routine with Lucy. When Lucy is really worked up, I’m the one who can rock her to sleep. I’ve sung her Baa Baa Black Sheep since she was a baby, and even now, when she’s settling herself, she’ll softly sing it to herself as a way to self-soothe.

As she was talking, she smiled and said it wasn’t the first time she’d seen this happen.

Chloe then shared a memory from years ago, when Beau first came home from hospital. He had been in hospital for a long time due to his own health issues, and when he was upset, he would look for me. She explained that when he was worked up and struggling to settle, the moment he was placed on my chest and I started singing, he would slowly drift off to sleep.

Even in all the chaos of the hospital — the flashing lights, constant beeping, and random people coming in and out — he would always fall asleep on my chest.

She told me that to him, I was his safety blanket.

She went on to remind me that the love and connection I feel now with Lucy isn’t new. That I showed the same excitement about firsts back then. That I felt the same love and joy for the older two as I do now. She shared moments where I showed up in ways I don’t remember, and how the kids embraced me just as strongly then as Lucy does today.

Knowing that — even though I don’t remember those moments — the kids most definitely do, brings me a deep sense of peace. It reminds me that presence isn’t always measured by memory, but by the safety and love a child feels.

The main goal of writing this series isn’t just to share my experience as a father living with memory loss. It’s about sharing what parenting can look like when health challenges are part of the journey — whether that’s a brain injury, mental health struggles, or any condition that changes how you show up.

I want to highlight the power of love, presence, and effort. The small things — the cuddles, the words, the moments you don’t think matter — often make the biggest impact on little lives. Even when things feel messy, imperfect, or broken, those moments still count.

You don’t need to remember everything perfectly to matter.

Sometimes, simply showing up is enough.

The next blog in this series will be a big one. I’ll be sharing my experience with postnatal depression as a father, and how it affected not just my parenting — but my entire life.

Written by Joe Horvat Written 18/12/2025