Do you remember when you went to
the fair and rode the tilt-a-whirl with the teacups? Do you remember the
blurriness of everything around you, the colors, the faces, the buildings, the
sky, and all the things that were meshed together? If you looked at the person
riding with you, they never looked more still? Even their laughter seemed to be
in slow motion, but if you turned your head away from them, you were lost in
the chaos and it was a battle to bring yourself back. You were able to do it. You realized that person is your center, your
sanity, and if you just kept looking at them everything would be ok until it
was over.
I lived in the chaos my whole life
until the day my daughter was born. I rode that ride spinning without control,
constantly looking for a face, simplicity, anything that made things easier.
Now she sits on this ride with me and she is so full of life. The sound of her
laughter, there’s nothing more beautiful, is what gets me through the day. A
day full of trying to put the pieces together to understand the words that are
coming out of my patient’s mouth, my co-workers, my friends, my family, and
anyone who communicates with me. The different sounds that indicate someone in
need, a phone call, a toy beeping, a car honking and the list never ends. I
feel like a dog whose ears are always perched with my head tilted to the side
straining to hear everything so that I don’t miss what’s important, even though
I know I only understand a fraction of what a hearing person hears. There’s no
relaxing or tuning things out, but when I hear my sweet little red-headed girl
laugh and squeal, it makes my life worth living that much more. She is my sanity, she reminds me to stop and
enjoy what’s happening now rather than worry about what I’m missing. She will
have an easier life than I did, she will understand the world around her, she
will throw herself into conversations with ease, she will hear some of the most
beautiful sounds and the most irritating ones too, she will learn to tune out
what needs to be tuned out so she can get through the day, she will be able to
set forth her dreams without doubting herself the way I do or have to plan
every little thing in order to even make it a possibility. I wish nothing more
than for her to enjoy life the way she already does, without the struggles and
the constant sense of uncertainty. She will be the part of me I never
knew.
