El retrato de mi padre

My father was found dead on the beach with psychotropic drugs among his belongings. Despite the suspicion of suicide, my mother -a psychiatrist by profession- considered it unnecessary to do an autopsy. I was eight years old. Thirty years later, armed with a box of his possessions, I set out on the impossible resurrection, shrouded in the fog of psychiatric illness, the mysteries of music therapy and my mother's questioning of my every finding.