Quest for Tears with Author Seán Dwyer

Rear-ended at 50 mph when he stopped at a crosswalk, Seán suffered two concussions in two seconds. His brain injury left him unable to read or write for nearly three years. He regained the ability to write as he produced a memoir of the accident and his recovery, A Quest for Tears: Surviving Traumatic Brain Injury (2019, Sidekick Press).

—Seán Dwyer biography

At first, I didn’t know why I was unable to think clearly; now, I know why. Will I reach a point when I once again don’t know that I’m in a complete, perpetual fog? I am scared, and I want to cry. But I don’t cry…

—Seán Dwyer, A Quest for Tears, 52

Remember, Seán, remember to love your brain. Pay attention to its subtle signals and rejoice in every small step forward.

—Seán Dwyer, A Quest for Tears, 116

A Quest for Tears (2019, Sidekick Press) is perfectly titled for the moving memoir by Seán Dwyer of his healing process from Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) and other injuries caused by being rear-ended on January 29, 2015.

This book is the story of Seán’s persistence and what he—with the help of his wife, family, friends, colleagues, writing community, medical professionals, legal professionals—overcame.

Moreover, this book is the evidence of what he overcame. You see, for author Seán Dwyer, his profession of writing became a challenge as a result of the collision and the onset of TBI.

At first, he couldn’t read or write except in very short spans. He describes how even formulating writing into story within his mind changed, and how he had to learn, over time, to adapt to those changes.

Challenges occurred to his high cognitive skills in several other ways, some of which included: needing to wear sunglasses almost continually; not being able to watch computer or television screens; putting his beloved career as a professor on hold for six months while he healed; and, neither as a biological response to irritants nor as an emotional response—the inability to cry.

Persist Seán did, and as he cleverly writes in a few places in his book: “Spoiler alert—I finished writing it.”

Not only did he finish, which was a feat in itself, but this is a well-crafted, well-written memoir. So much so that from the moment I began reading, I could not this book put down.

In A Quest for Tears, Seán writes his life, achieving a compelling story of healing from the tragic collision that left him with an extreme and difficult situation and in finding a new normal.

He accomplishes creating a page-turner for the reader by employing the following:

First, by writing in the present tense, Seán takes readers with him on his literal quest for tears as it happens. We as readers also get to experience “in real time” a symbolic quest, which I will address a few paragraphs down.

Second, Seán crafts his story in short meditative chapters. The chapters concern his relationship with his wife, other family members, his cats, his friends, his colleagues, his writing community, his attorneys, his doctors and therapists, and his night dreams. After each chapter, I pause to ponder each struggle and epiphany Sean shares.

Third, Seán’s writing is clear, alternating between prosaic and lyric, depending on the scene. Most of the story is a very step-by-step unfolding of his journey. This style, to me, mimics his thought processes of being deliberate in his conscious mind to find answers, to heal.

In other places, his writing becomes beautifully imagistic. These places reflect where his conscious mind is at that time.

For example, the opening is pure poetry, imagistic, painting a lovely scene of his lyrical life before the collision, as he drives to meet with one of his writing communities. He writes:

My route takes me up a two-lane road that hugs a condo-topped bluff on my right and overlooks a steep drop to Bellingham Bay on the left. To my right, ground cover, green even in January, holds the earth in place. To my left, the expanse of the Bay, dotted with a variety of watercraft, sparkles in the waning sunlight. Northbound, I have the sun at my back, low in the sky, not bothersome in my rearview mirror.

—Seán Dwyer, A Quest for Tears, 19

Then, in the next scene, he is hit, and his life is suddenly changed. As he becomes conscious of being rear-ended, his mind—and his writing style—starts step-by-step processing, trying to account for the unaccountable shocking devastation.

But placed throughout are intriguing and magical lyrical sequences that correlate to when, in his healing process, the conscious mind steps back to allow the subconscious mind center-stage, such as in the chapter “Dream Team,” where Seán “meets” with a group of otherworldly healing professionals in his dreams.

Another such scene is his depiction of a visualization process, prompted by his craniosacral therapist:

Now, Karen settles me in and asks me to visualize what the back of my head looks like. I contemplate her request for a minute, then I make my report.

“I see the aftermath of a forest fire. The ground is charred; there are stubby black bushes and tall, leafless blackened trees. Smoke still rises from the underbrush.” 

“Wow. Now, try turning some of the underbrush green while I work.” 

I sense my legs lying raised on a pillow. I feel the rest my body lying flat on her table. I feel her hands manipulating my skull. I concentrate on the devastated landscape that my brain has given me as an image of its current state.

I perceive that any green growth will be neurons developing new pathways. I push low- growing plants, ferns, nettles, to spring up from the ashes and speckle the landscape with their new, vigorous life. The image begins to look like a graphic of terraforming Mars. Here and there I see a fern anchoring itself in the rich post-conflagration soil. Tendrils of smoke weave through the fronds of these intrepid plants.

The landscape is not regenerating entirely on its own. I see people wearing white overalls who are turning over scorched soil with spades. They seem to be loosening the earth to facilitate growth. I have had dreams about these people who are working to repair my brain. I take the dreams as a message from one part of my brain to my conscious self that reconstruction is proceeding as quickly as possible.

—Seán Dwyer, A Quest for Tears, 149-150

Fourth, Seán’s writing is gentle. Please don’t misunderstand me here. His healing journey from debilitating injuries is filled with trials. But, he writes with a gentle tone, so that while we experience vicariously some of his pain, Seán also protects his readers from too much trauma, gently imparting lessons he learned and weaving throughout gratitude to his wife and many others who share with him lovingkindness.

Fifth, in its structure, Seán’s story follows the three-part Rite of Passage to Identity.

This topic—articulated into three parts by anthropologist Victor Turner based on research by anthropologist Arnold van Gennep—is the subject of much of my scholarship in research, writing and teaching and will be a topic for future blog posts. But I will also address it here, in relation to A Quest for Tears.

The Rite of Passage to Identity is similar to the Hero’s Journey articulated by Joseph Campbell, also influenced by van Gennep’s work.

In three parts as I posit below, we can see A Quest for Tears as Seán, the protagonist of his own life and of his memoir, being put into a place of adversity in which he:

1. Leaves behind his “former identity,” whom he refers to as Seán 1.0

2. Faces and overcomes challenges, trials, adversity

3. Achieves a “new identity,” whom he refers to as Seán 2.0—
Changed with new purpose, specifically to help community,
(Sometimes this change involves a new “name” or title, as well)

Thus, A Quest for Tears is also A Quest for Identity. And A Hero’s Journey.

Is being able to cry is a factor to identity? Is such a quest heroic? After reading Seán’s memoir, I have to say, yes—Seán beautifully articulates how crying helps regulate our humanity. He painfully misses not being able to cry. And he overcomes many trials in seeking the worthy ability of crying. Overcoming his challenges is heroic.
Seán writes:

Unlike my previous self, I will seek sadness. I need to try to force my emotions into outward expressions.

I am now on a quest for tears.

—Seán Dwyer, A Quest for Tears, 147

That is one breakthrough [crying] I would love to experience. Nothing will make me feel more normal than crying at appropriate times. I would love to experience this same healing shift.

—Seán Dwyer, A Quest for Tears, 243

Seán, a survivor and now an author of memoir, fulfills point 3 of the Rite of Passage to Identity. He states in his story that he wants his experience and his book to become a source of help for others: A Quest for Tears provides resources and offers compassion to those confronting the challenges of TBI, and I would add, of those facing other adversities.

He also sees his pain and what might be considered mundane tasks now as an opportunity to help others. He writes:

The neck pain from my TBI has a silver lining. It has changed my outlook on haircuts, along with so many other aspects of life. From this point forward, I want my efforts to lead to contributions to the well-being of other people. If I don’t torture myself by getting frequent haircuts, I can provide a child with part of a wig every two years. I have seen videos of children, usually girls, getting wigs during chemotherapy. When they unbox the wig, they are thrilled to have hair again.

—Seán Dwyer, A Quest for Tears, 281

Ultimately, Seán achieves acceptance, and peace. He writes:

In more concrete, measurable areas of life, I have experienced the involuntary release of numerous cherished aspects of myself. I have chosen to view my deficits in reading, writing, organizing, and crying as features of Seán 2.0 that pale in comparison to losing the ability to talk, walk, or feed myself.

Releasing my pride about my cognitive skills allows me to move through my world with less stress and more appreciation of beautiful moments. My life is no longer a competition with myself or with anyone else. This lesson may help my construction crew work efficiently. It may allow gains in many areas of my life.

The most valuable impact of this perspective is that it brings me peace.

—Seán Dwyer, A Quest for Tears, 322

Neither the writing nor the sharing of his story was an easy task. Again, Seán’s concern is also for his readers. He writes:

… I found that I could not visualize in my head the story that I knew so well and previously could see in great detail, as if it were part of the real world.

With that disappointment firmly in my mind, I decide now that I am going to start a new project. That project is a memoir about my accident and my struggle to return to normal: reading, writing, crying.

… At the same time, I am reliving the accident, a scary thing to do in public. I go over and over the scene when I am at home, but I try not to think about it when I am out. Remembering makes me jittery. I don’t want strangers to worry about my well-being if they see me getting twitchy.

—Seán Dwyer, A Quest for Tears, 196

As earlier stated—“Spoiler alert—I finished writing it”—the book itself is author Seán Dwyer’s achievement in writing through his challenges. He writes with a different method now, and reading about this development is fascinating.

So, Seán achieves A Quest for Tears. But, does he achieve his quest for tears? Does our hero cry?

I won’t “spoiler alert” this answer—you’ll have to read A Quest for Tears and quest with Author Seán Dwyer to find out.

I suggest you do, and keep some tissue nearby.