‘I cry in movies now’: How a stroke brought a father closer to his daughter

When author and organisational psychologist Amantha Imber, 45, was growing up, she found her computer programmer dad Martin, 73, very detached. Since his stroke, though, they’ve become close.

Amantha Imber and her father, Martin: “His love language is 100 per cent acts of service; he doesn’t really say ‘I love you’, but the things he does for me – that’s how I feel his love.”Credit: Simon Schluter

Amantha: Growing up, I identified more with Mum because she’s also a psychologist and writer. Dad trained as an electrical engineer, then worked as a computer programmer. He’s the most competent person I know; he can figure out how to do anything. When something goes wrong in the house, he’s the first person I call. And he’s handy for tech support. I’m always wanting to push myself and be productive, and I get that work ethic from Dad. He’s also very financially savvy, so I saved up and didn’t move out of home until I was 23 and had bought myself an apartment.

Dad came to Australia when he was one year old. His parents were Holocaust survivors and his dad had built an underground bunker in Poland that 25 people lived in for a year until the war was over. Dad didn’t talk about the Holocaust with his dad until he interviewed my grandfather in his final years. Growing up, I don’t remember any super-deep conversations; I’ve talked to Dad more in the last few years than I did in my first three-and-a-half decades, so I see his stroke as such a blessing for our relationship.

In 2009, Mum and Dad were at an Israeli dance camp in Frankston and he went to hospital with symptoms that were causing him to stutter. The next morning, he couldn’t make a sound, and his right side was paralysed from face to foot. I was two years into running my business and worked from the hospital for weeks. Neuroplasticity wasn’t mainstream then, but my mum researched it. So, even though Dad’s doctors were like, “This is it,” we said, “This is not permanent.” Dad was back dancing after six months.

The only thing different to how he was before the stroke is that he now has a Polish accent like his father. He speaks slower and sometimes struggles to find the right word. A few months after the stroke, I was buying a car and Dad came with me. He worked for Ford for years – he programmed how the cars were built – and this salesman spoke down to him. I felt so angry. Before the stroke, my dad seemed bulletproof, so it was a real wake-up call. And the stroke has softened him. He has become more empathic and patient with people. Now I see what a beautiful human he is. I see all of him now.

In 2018, I wanted to start a podcast and knew nothing, so Dad launched himself into learning about sound engineering. Now we’re nearly 470 episodes into How I Work and just ticked more than four million downloads [my latest book on the subject of work is Time Wise].

“I’ve talked to Dad more in the last few years than I did in my first three-and-a-half decades, so I see his stroke as such a blessing for our relationship.”

One of the biggest joys of the podcast is that I get to do it with my dad. For someone who’s retired and older than my average listener, I love that he gets something out of it. Sometimes he’ll be like, “That interview didn’t really gel for me” if it’s a bit airy-fairy or woo-woo. We both appreciate evidence-based science.

Dad’s a very can-do man. When my daughter was little, he changed lots of nappies; he was happy to just muck in. These days he’ll often do school pick-ups or drop-offs.

My dining table is very special; my daughter calls it “Papa’s table” because Dad spent hundreds of hours building it. It’s a complicated piece and he made it from a picture, having only ever previously made bookshelves. His love language is 100 per cent acts of service; he doesn’t really say “I love you”, but the things he does for me – that’s how I feel his love.

Martin: My wife, Doris, wanted to call our daughter Anthea, but she knew an Anthea she didn’t like, so she invented the name Amantha. I remember struggling when she was too young to talk because I wanted to communicate – to be understood and to understand. I’m a very practical person, so if you ask me about my feelings, I tend not to be … feeling. But I do have them, especially since the stroke. Before the stroke I was dispassionate about most things, and afterwards I became more right-brained, more emotional. Others around me appreciate it. I think I like it. I cry in movies now.

We chose to have only one child: after Amantha, we could not do much better. She was very conscientious; she always had every assignment in before it was due. And I remember she was keen on the Count from Sesame Street – I’ve got a picture of her in a purple cloak. Everyone took a bear to school, and she took her plastic bat. But I didn’t have much interaction with her as a child. I regret it.

At university, she became a singer-songwriter [her debut album was called Like Samantha Without the S]. I thought she could do whatever she wanted as long as she got a degree first. I saw her at the Espy in St Kilda and thought she was great, but I didn’t think she’d be successful and pointed that out to her.

“Before the stroke I was dispassionate about most things, and afterwards I became more right-brained, more emotional. Others around me appreciate it. I think I like it. I cry in movies now.”

Amantha’s [psychology] career has been fantastic because she loves dealing with people and analysing how they can be better. It’s remarkable she’s built up her business by herself. I praise her to the ends of the earth with all my friends: what’s not to brag about?

When I had my stroke, Amantha was there 100 per cent. In recovery mode, I remember being more aware of people’s feelings: I had more patience and I was not so quick to put my point of view. It brought Amantha closer to me. I saw her differently, as more caring about me. I cared about her, but didn’t express it fully enough before. I’d say I’m close to 100 per cent recovered – but with more empathy. I’m basically 105 per cent!

When Amantha wanted to do the podcast, I thought, “Great, I’ll do the audio editing.” I had to learn the program and the rest I picked up from YouTube videos. That was one of the few ways I could help in her business, and I was retired, so why not? If I don’t do anything, I’ll die. I’m an engineer and a doer; Amantha’s a creative, so we’re symbiotic. From her, I get work that I love. And from me, she gets work that has to be done. It brings us closer.

Amantha’s divorce a few years ago was a nightmare. She coped, but it was difficult. She created a podcast on how to date when she was looking for a partner and I thought that was an iffy idea. I don’t like the online dating scene and some of the interviews she did were weird. I didn’t comment.

I love that Amantha’s got a good heart; it annoys me that she doesn’t always listen to advice. I think she still needs me and I need her, too. I need someone to care about besides Doris, and the more of those people you have in your life, the better it is. Since the stroke, she’s taught me how to care about her more – just by being who she is.

[e-mail]

To read more from Good Weekend magazine, visit our page at The Sydney Morning Herald, The Age and Brisbane Times.