A Sentimental Tale

       Kim Edward’s novel, The Memory Keeper’s Daughter, is a beautifully written story of a man who abandoned his own daughter, bearing Down syndrome, the moment she was born. This very man is the main protagonist, whom the readers quickly learn to admire yet frown upon at the very same time.

       Dr. David Henry, on the first impression, is an individual with kindness, whether towards his wife, or to his patients at his clinic. In the beginning of the novel, he is portrayed as being both a charming doctor and a loving husband, quite thoughtful, too: “He found himself wanting to protect her instead, to carry her up flights of stairs, to wrap her in blankets, to bring her cups of custard” (Edwards 4). Strongly attentive to details and deeply intelligent, Dr. Henry is the perfect candidate for an ideal husband and a neighbouring doctor. His appearance is neatly described by the author, in addition to the fact that he is a law-abiding citizen, unwilling to break the guidelines set out for him by the larger world: “If one was on the outside, just happening to glance by Dr. Henry, his bland and seemingly flawless outer shell would have hidden any trace of an emotional soul lurking somewhere underneath.

       After reading the first few pages of The Memory Keeper’s Daughter, Dr. Henry’s inner personality began to unfold; displaying more of his sentimental and pensive character with every turn of the page: “It was a moment when all the disparate shards of his life seemed to knit together, every past sadness and disappointment, every anxious secret and uncertainty hidden now beneath the soft white layers” (Edwards 9). Not far into the novel, he asked a nurse to deliver his newborn daughter to an institution then telling his wife the child had died. This, at first, is seemingly cruel and unforgivable. His reasons for doing so, however, contrasted with such an ugly action. He wanted to protect his wife from unhappiness, from disappointment, by cutting the roots from the very beginning. He knew both himself and his wife’s lives would become very different, challenging and difficult: “Our world will never be the same” (Edwards 17). His daughter’s disease, as well, inflicted the memory of his beloved younger sister, someone who suffered a heart defection, someone he could no longer care for, someone he cannot hold in his arms forever, someone whose death brought only more sadness and pain to their mother. Of benevolent nature, Dr. Henry had never intended to hurt anyone, only acting in motives he believed were good for all. He had tried to protect the baby, his wife, and lastly, even himself. He did not realize that what he did the night he sent their daughter away would only backfire the wishes he so desperately wanted to come true.

       Through his actions, Dr. Henry’s weaknesses had more or less surfaced: insecurity, pessimism and most importantly of all, distrust. He distrusted society; feared his own values: “All these years later, he still had moments when he sensed the gaze of those doctors and felt himself to be an imposter, about to be unmasked by a single mistake” (Edwards 8). More importantly still, he distrusted himself. His over-contemplative and worrisome character led him into believing he lacked the ability to support his own daughter. To the readers, Dr. Henry’s decision to send the baby away from home may have seemed quick, yet, from Dr. Henry’s perspective, it would have been long; a decision made after careful thought. His protective belief that by sending this child away would lessen the pain for his wife became an excuse – deep down, he was insecure; pessimistic of the world: “He liked that bones were solid things, surviving even the white heat of cremation. Bones would last; it was easy for him to put his faith in something so solid and predictable” (Edwards 8). He had really looked down on the most crucial word in life, namely, hope.

       How such an intelligent individual could reach failure by succumbing to his emotional weaknesses can truly be ironic, impenetrable even to those who read the novel. Dr. Henry was clearly a man who would provide much love to his children: “He paused by the nursery door, studying the shadowy shapes of the crib and the changing table, the stuffed animals arranged on shelves” (Edwards 8). Hindered by the possibility of an unhappy childhood, Dr. Henry does not know how to express love, or what love truly meant; his character is deeply melancholic, enriched with a sense of mysteriousness: “He remembered such days from his own childhood in the mountains, rare moments of escape when he went into the woods, his breathing amplified and his voice somehow muffled by the heavy snow that bent branches low, drifted over paths. The world, for a few short hours, transformed” (Edwards 9). Because of his own fears, the emotions he held were kept within, unable to reach light: “But he had been trained to be calm in emergencies, to keep his emotions in check…” (Edwards 9).

       The prediction as to how Dr. Henry’s character will develop as the story progresses is that he will continue to fall deeper and deeper into his realm of regret – a state of heart-wrench where he faces the consequences of his actions beforehand. Instead of opening up to others, he will most possibly become reclusive, enclosed by the comfort of his shell, drenched within his own memories, as suggested by the title of the novel. Hopefully there will come a day for him to express himself and to openly apologize. He already knows how to love – showing his affection through the tinniest details, with which he does not even know himself. 

Lost Smile

        For one to smile, it merely requires the muscles around our mouth to move a fraction of an inch and a maximum of one second. For one to smile, but also to feel underneath what is being expressed outside, requires time and effort far beyond what was mentioned - at least it had, for me. I was unknown to the world and the world to me; only after I had familiarized myself with reality did I realise, my h0pes had been too high, my dreams surreal. I did not believe that friendship could be so frail, so breakable, until her actions and words in addition with my greatest challenges: lack of confidence and vulnerability, destroyed our bond and plummetted me into a whirlpool of darkness. 


       I vaguely remember the start of our friendship, only vividly remembering I had wanted it to last. We were like two peas in a pod, always bound by each other's side, always happy. We seldom had quarrels; we worked together, played together, laughed with each other at the slightest things. Little did I know that under the laughter - she was unhappy, dissatisfied, which I as a friend had failed to realise. Truthfully, I did not know when it started, or why. Was our friendship not a promise? Then it dawned on me: was it because of jealousy? I began becoming adjusted to the hidden insults under her comments, her laughter gradually turning sarcastic, bitterness under those smiles. The emotional attacks I was given - I swallowed, I waited, I forgot. A brand new day meant a brand new start, but everytime my optimism returned I was again listening to words I did not want to hear. Sitting on my bed at night I would huddle my stuffed animals, pray, stare at my toes with a face lined with tears - desperately hoping for the good and memorable times of us together to come back. I waited for the wrenching sensation in my heart to end, but it never did. Her actions became apparent to me that our friendship was over. As we slowly drifted apart, further and further away from each other, all that was between us were space, broken promises, and a load of memories, some to keep, and others to be washed away eternally. Then the day came, where I walked away from her, her harrassment, our misery, closing the door from me to her and her to I, forever. 


       Despite my anger and disappointment towards her, I was even more so disgusted at myself. If only I had spoken up the very first time the unhappiness began, maybe our friendship would not have ended the way it did - in fact, it might not have ended at all. I had always been insecure, lacked confidence; it was not her who shattered me - it was myself. I did not explain my feelings to her and to those who misunderstood me. I failed to express what had hurt me - instead I stayed cowardly and silent and let myself to be pushed to a point of no return. I attempted to stand unwaveringly and simply not care, only to be suppressed by a desperation for a place to hide, a place without a need to conceal numbed throats or frozen eyes which would only stare at the floor. It was her who trampled over me - but it was I who let her do so, and because of this, I should be the one to take responsibility for the destruction of our relationship.


       Our separation gave me an opportunity to review her actions as well as mine. From this friendship, I learned the indescribable importance of honesty, confidence, confession and more importantly still, that to overcome problems with others, we should first free ourselves of our own fears - the biggest challenge. At times, I still think of her, and seeing children running down the street hand in hand reminds me of the once beautiful chapter of our lives in which we shared. I wondered once if God would mercifully rewind time and bring us back to square one, back to my cherished moments and to replace that smile we had both lost. I guess it will never happen, and that maybe, it is truly time to move on.