The Calm Before the Storm
December 2007. Everything in our small living room on Dustin Drive was screaming “Christmas is Coming!” Our artificial tree was imperfectly adorned with assorted ornaments that represented different parts of our past: A flat, hand-painted nutcracker my husband had made in grade school. A felt gingerbread man with buttons for eyes that I had sewn together in my first apartment. A shiny ceramic bear on a rocking horse - 2002 Baby’s First Christmas. My girls had added a few new pieces they had recently made in school. The white lights were all working and oddly-shaped gifts were wrapped and shoved underneath. I could still smell the cardamom from the Norweigian Julekage bread we had baked the day before. Indeed, Christmas was coming, and I was ready.
When I look back at the photos from that time, I see the calm before the storm. Beneath the holiday buzz, there was a soon-to-be revealed truth hidden right in front of our eyes. A truth that would turn our world upside down just a few short weeks after Santa’s visit. With the leftovers gone and the tree disassembled, we walked into January relaxed and began the subliminal countdown to warmer days. Instead, January was the beginning of the storm.
My youngest child’s mysterious, permanent hearing loss was discovered because her wise and seasoned preschool teacher shared her observations and concerns with us at the parent-teacher conference in January of 2008. She didn’t mention any issues with hearing, but rather with Bridie’s inability to communicate and participate in class. That one conversation led to a speech evaluation which led to a diagnostic hearing test which led to the truth: Bridie had lost her hearing. Not all of it, but a lot of it. And the loss was permanent. And the loss could not be explained.
For me, what happened between Christmas 2007 and Christmas 2008 was nothing short of an emotional tsunami. Bridie’s ability to understand and be understood had slowly receded several months before preschool began, but I hadn’t noticed. I was too busy surviving every day as a working mother of two active little girls to notice that Bridie’s ability to communicate and engage with the world had shifted. The moment her hearing loss became obvious, and then official, the pressure of guilt and panic inside of me was almost too much to bear. I believed the language disorder and other developmental delays she experienced were the consequence of my inattention, my failure as a mother. It would take a solid year for me to come to terms with her disability, to understand the basics of my role as her primary advocate, and to prioritize and fight for my child’s chance at kindergarten readiness.
This week, as the annual aroma of cardamom sweeps through the kitchen and into every corner of our home, I am reminded of the Christmas of 2007 - the calm before the storm. I recall the precious days of holiday chaos and confusion that preceded the beginning of our pediatric hearing loss journey. I want to hug my younger self and say, “everything you are feeling in this moment is normal. And, you will figure all of this out along the way - just like the millions of parents of deaf and hard of hearing children have done before you. Your family will figure all of this out.”
President Franklin D. Roosevelt was right when he said that “a smooth sea never made a skilled sailor.” This holiday season, I give thanks for the storm that taught my family how to sail, taught us how to swim, and taught us how to support other families in the midst of their own thunder.
