A near-death experience taught my father to say 'I love you'

• Growing up, my father was frugal, serious, and hardly ever emotional. 
• After a near-death experience from an aneurysm, he now says "I love you" much more often.
• The change made me see him more fully as a person and reminded me I still had room to grow. 

My grandmother once told me that my dad used to be an outgoing, boisterous child. Everything changed after his father was killed in a plane crash. She recalled my 17-year-old father saying, "Now it's me against the world."

For most of my life, I saw my father as the ultimate provider; he worked long hours as a doctor and took pride in that he never missed a day of work. He was even-keeled and difficult to shake. In his eyes, people were either good or bad — there wasn't much in between. While we knew he loved us, he would rarely, if ever, say the words "I love you." But after an aneurysm, a helicopter ride to the hospital, and hours of surgery gave him a new perspective on life, I've noticed a change in him.

In my childhood, even a small display of emotion from my dad was memorable

My father always spoke with certainty. His tone left no room for questioning, and I always assumed he was right. If he announced that it was foolish for me to spend my money on a video game, I listened to him and pocketed the cash for another time. I was the kid who, when in a heated elementary-school debate with a friend, said, "It's a fact because my dad said so."

Certain things made him laugh: Peter Sellers in the original "Pink Panther" films sent him into hysterics, and he couldn't mention "Rocky and Bullwinkle" without smiling. I loved the rare occasions when he took a risk, however trivial; while setting the dinner table, he tossed ceramic dishes across the tablecloth, seeing how close they'd come to the edge without falling off.

Once, while on a road trip, someone sped by too closely, and he flipped them the bird. He was visibly angry and muttered a few choice words under his breath. Even this small show of emotion was memorable. My mother was proud. She clapped and whispered, "Did you see what your father just did?"

When my father suffered from an aneurysm, I saw a different side of him

In January 2020, at the age of 73, he suffered an aneurysm. My mother, brother, and I sat with him in our local hospital as he writhed in pain, waiting for the helicopter to take him to a facility that could operate. His chances of survival were slim — at least that's what I assumed it meant when my brother, who's also a doctor, said: "This doesn't look good."

As the EMTs were moving him onto a stretcher, I leaned over and took his hand. I don't remember what I told him, probably something about being there when he arrived. His eyes were closed, and I could tell the pain was unbearable. He said: "I'm sorry. It's really hard to watch people you love when they are in pain." These words — from my father who showed little emotion and rarely said "I love you" — felt surreal. I wondered how he could be so selfless, worrying about others while he was in great pain. At that moment, I felt a deep affection for him.

We drove for two hours and, after arriving at the hospital, learned that my father was still in surgery. After another hour, they informed us that the surgery was successful and that he would be in recovery shortly. I kept hearing my father's words in my head: "It's hard to watch people you love when they are in pain." In what could have been some of his final moments alive, he was most concerned about us — that it might be upsetting for us to see him in pain.

It took a near-death experience for my dad to be vulnerable

After two weeks in the hospital, my father was released. In the three years since his surgery, he has been healthy and active. He is still the same guy in many ways, but there are many things that have changed. His presence still commands attention, and though he's still mostly serious, there are now more moments of silliness.

He still thinks mostly in black-and-white terms — for example, that there are mostly good and bad guys — but I can sense more nuance in his thinking. In the past, he was quick to state his opinion on any given topic; now I see him listening more, thinking before he shares his perspective. When I talk to him on the phone, his voice is softer, and before we hang up, he says, "I love you."

As children, our parents seem like royalty. We expect them to model adulthood with strength and sincerity. They teach us how to interact with and respond to the world. For the majority of my life, I saw my father respond stoically. But when I witnessed his vulnerability, I saw him more fully.

Even though I see myself as someone who's comfortable with vulnerability, witnessing my father become more open has reminded me that I still have room to grow. I believe that my father and I both learned something that day. He learned to say "I love you," and I learned that even when people present themselves as impervious, it doesn't mean they're not feeling emotions. We all just have different ways of expressing them.