I wasn’t prepared for the silence. Actually, I wasn’t prepared for a lot of things but the silence really threw me; it still does. There are days when it is like no one is in the house but me. I’ll speak to him, sometimes carry on a whole conversation before I realize he’s not turning his head or acknowledging me in any way. And then I realize I’ll have to start all over again, perhaps go stand right in front of him. And this happens so often, I sometimes just forget the whole thing and walk back to my office upstairs.
I know it isn’t his fault,and on top of that, I’ve been dealing with this for almost three years now so I really don’t have an excuse to be annoyed about it anymore. I should just accept it and deal with it. But,damn, I still can’t get used to it and it drives me crazy. He’s totally deaf in one ear–the result of a motorcycle accident when he was sixteen — and the other ear, well, even with his hearing aid it’s not much better.
Sometimes I think he just doesn’t want to speak because it’s becoming too difficult. To take the jumble of letters in his head, construct them into words and then piece them into sentences that convey what he wants to say … it’s just too damn hard for him now. I watch him many times when this urge to be understood is overwhelming, almost taking on the force of a primal instinct. And I wonder what would he — what would I — be willing to give up just to be understood? Utterly frustrated, he will cover his face with his large elegant hands, hands that at one time did delicate dental surgery, then cry out, “I hate this! I hate this!”
I hate it, too. But even more than I hate him not hearing me, I hate not hearing him. Witnessing this man I have known, admired and loved for over half of my life, lose his language, his memories, his cognitive skills … it is like looking up and watching a plane plummet uncontrollably toward earth and there is nothing you can do to stop it, nothing you can do to save the lives of the hundred-plus souls on board. Only you and your spouse are the only ones on this particular plane and its crash will take months and years, not minutes. This crash will take every bit of life and stamina and will for you to deal with its slow but continual trajectory toward its ultimate destination.
I would be lying if I didn’t admit there have been moments when I have desperately wanted a parachute. Jump, bail out now! But those moments are usually fleeting; bad mornings when nothing has seemed to go right, I didn’t get enough sleep or evenings when I feel so exhausted I see no hope for any kind of future. But then I will think, Girl, you’re strong and you’re smart and you can do this. And I cling to that mantra. I’m strong, I’m smart and I can do this. Damn, I hope I am anyway. I hope I am.
And then Jim will look up at last and ask, “Do we have any ice cream?” And I’ll answer yes and get up and head for the kitchen.
I’m strong, I’m smart … and I can make an ice cream sundae.
Writing Through Challenges & Change 