Deafness, Blindness, and Chef’s Salad

Today, I went to a meeting about the future of a major vision loss organization in town. I was there because I’d been interviewed as part of their strategic planning process and also, I think, because I’m on the local Commission on Aging.

One after the other, the twenty or so participants talked about their experiences with vision loss – their own, their spouse’s, their child’s. The stories were powerful and moving. One couple was told their newborn son would be legally blind and so they brought him to this organization to learn how to cope. He died at just eight months old – that was decades ago – they still volunteer. They were that grateful for the help they’d gotten.

When it was my turn, I said that I’d not had experience with vision loss, but I was severely hearing impaired, deaf without my implants. And when I said that, I remembered Helen Keller being asked which was worse – being blind or being deaf.

Here is her response, “Blindness cuts us off from things; deafness cuts us off from people…to be cut off from hearing [people] is to be isolated indeed.”

I don’t agree with Helen Keller. I want to see your face when you talk to me. I want to see the lilt of your eyebrows, the blueness of your eyes. I want to see if you are tired or if you have crumbs on your chin from the muffin you’re eating. I want to know if you are holding your head in your hands or if you are nodding and smiling at my smart remarks.

I don’t want to guess how you look. I’d rather piece together what you are saying, the vowels your mouth forms, made-up hand signals, letters written in the air. I’d rather be wrong most of the time rather than hear everything but not know how you look when you speak to me.

We never got into Helen Keller or the relative hardships of blindness and deafness. These were just things I was thinking about while I ate my chef’s salad and watched everyone else speak. I sat at the end of the table so I could see everyone’s faces. That’s a must for me.