HEARING LESSONS FROM MY DEAF FRIEND

Oh no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, and other pathetic excuses I’ve made since I saw her again today.

I saw someone today I had not seen in years. She is deaf. I remember when I first met her through a mutual friend who knew ASL (American Sign Language), I was bound and determined to learn the art of ASL.

Things got busy. Or my family needed me. Or work is crazy! Or I’ve been traveling, a lot. Or my house is a mess!

Hundreds of useless, pathetic excuses come to mind. Now.

In any case, I didn’t learn it.

Yes, I saw her again today. During the 4 plus years since I had seen her before, I thought about her a few times, wondering what had happened to her. Remembering though deaf, she could communicate much better than I could.

This is because I always felt a little awkward that she could read my lips, but I couldn’t always understand what she said.

I would politely nod my head as if I understood and wonder if she knew I didn’t. Sometimes I would ask her to repeat herself. Sometimes I understood.

She’s the deaf one, and I was the one who politely nodded my head.

Seems so petty, so trite now.

Back when we became closer, we would talk about her hardships with being deaf in a rural town, where there really weren’t many jobs for us “normal” folks, let alone someone who couldn’t hear.

She told me most people didn’t know how to act around her, didn’t know how to relate to her. She felt very alone.

Normal? She was the normal one.

I saw her today. After 4 years. As always, we hugged and later resorted to writing things down when my disability of non-lip-reading skills showed its ugly self.

I noticed she had lost weight. Then when the awkwardness of my inability to hear what she was saying wore off, I realized just how ill she looked.

Why have you lost so much weight?

Pathetic question. Oh dear God, I’m so sorry I didn’t know how much she needed a friend.

Cirrhosis of the liver. The death sentence given to alcoholics who never turn from their vice. A vice needs more than one person to unwind its cruel grip.

We are the Forgotten America.

In many rural areas, like ours, there are no addiction rehabilitation centers. There are some make-shift centers that offer short term treatment. But they don’t offer near enough time to make a difference in an addict’s life.

Why would anyone open a long term rehab center, for women, for men, for juveniles, or for anyone, when you can’t make money at it?

How much is a life worth again?

There’s no jobs. Hence, there’s no money to pay for services. Hence, there are no professionals who don’t want to get paid.

Let’s be real here. Rural is dying.

It’s the elephant in the room that nobody wants to look at, at least not directly in the eyes.

But, alas, in the end I’m just trying to blame something else for my friend’s fate.

I’m dodging my own accountability.

It’s as much MY fault as it is any establishment. My anger is misplaced.

I failed her.

Oh my soul, I’m so sorry, my friend. I wish I had known. I would have been there for you my friend. Please, please forgive me.

When she and I said goodbye, she gave me her email and I gave her mine, we hugged for the longest time, and then she gave me the sweetest kiss on my cheek.

I didn’t deserve that kiss.

Oh, my friend, I killed you by not hearing you.

Maybe one day, maybe, I’ll learn to hear better.

Please, God, please help me to hear better.

If you understand where I’m coming from or may think others may feel a heart tug from reading this heartfelt article, please recommend by tapping your heart on the screen. I thank you.