After her father took his own life in 1998, Miriam Toews decided to face her confusion and pain straight on. In writing her father's memoir, she was motivated by two primary goals: For her own sake, she needed to understand, or at least accept, her father's final decision. For her father's sake, she needed to honour him, to elucidate his life and to demonstrate its worth.
Apart from its brief prologue and epilogue, Swing Low is written entirely from Mel Toews's perspective. Miriam Toews has her father tell his story from bed as he waits in a Steinbach hospital to be transferred to a psychiatric facility in Winnipeg. Mel turns to writing to make sense of his condition, to review his life in the hope of seeing it more clearly. He remembers himself as an anxious child, the son of a despondent father and an alcoholic mother, who never once made him feel loved. At seventeen he was diagnosed with manic depression (now known as bipolar disorder). His psychiatrist's predictions were grim: Mel shouldn't count on marrying, starting a family or holding down a job. With great courage and determination, Mel went on to do all three: he married his childhood sweetheart, had two happy daughters and was a highly respected and beloved teacher for forty years.
Although Mel was able to keep his disorder hidden from the community, his family frequently witnessed his unravelling. Over the years this schism between his public and private life grew wider. An outgoing and tireless trailblazer at school, he often collapsed into silence and despair at home. Ironically, in trying to win his family's love through hard work and accomplishments, he deprived them of what they yearned for most: his presence, his voice. Once he retired from teaching — "the daily ritual of stepping outside himself" — Mel lost his creative outlet and, with it, his hope. (From Vintage Canada)
At the end of his life, my father, in a rare conversation, asked me to write things down for him, words and sentences that would lead him out of his confusion and sadness to a place and time that he might understand. "You will be well again," I wrote. "Please write that again," he'd ask. I wrote many things over and over and over, and he would read each sentence, each declaration and piece of information out loud. Eventually, it stopped making sense to him. "You will be well again?" he'd ask me, and I'd say, "No, Dad, you will be well again." "I will be well again?" he'd ask. "Yes," I'd say. "I will be well again," he'd repeat. "Please write that down."
Soon I was filling up pages of yellow legal notepads with writing from his own point of view so he could understand it when he read it to himself. After his death, when I began writing this book, I continued to write in the same way. It was a natural extension of the writing I'd done for him in the hospital, and a way, though not a perfect one, of hearing what my father might have talked about if he'd ever allowed himself to. If he'd ever thought it would matter to anybody.
From Swing Low by Miriam Toews ©2005. Published by Vintage Canada.