CHASING DOWN THE MUSE: How would the world be without sound?

Ah, the challenges of communication. On any given day, we can each point to some fuzziness or miscommunication in language conversations we may have had.

Recently, one such occurrence came my way, leading me to ponder on aging and communication. What nuance had I been missing, I wondered?

I was visiting my 92-year-old mother for the day. Her hearing has been going downhill pretty fast for the past year and the family knows this is difficult for her. Still, we have chosen to honor her decision to do nothing about it. The reasons are, we assume, partly vanity, but there is also the fact that she just cannot imagine being with us much longer. (Of course, she has maintained that she must be at the end for most of the past 15 years. Why do we listen to her insistent wishes on these matters?)

One of my mother’s great pleasures is “keeping up with what is happening in the world” by watching news television. Because of the hearing loss, the volume is at a level that makes any conversation well nigh impossible.

After a couple of hours of labored conversation, though, I find it a pleasant diversion when, in the late afternoon, she turns on her favorite programs. I simply watch along with her. We are still together, without the strain of repeating every word.

On this day, we were watching a segment on President Obama’s decision not to release the photos of detainees being abused by soldiers in Afghanistan and Iraq. The discussion was, of course, serious in tone as differences of opinion were aired.

Suddenly, my mother turned down the sound and with a puzzled look on her face asked, “Photos of who in bikinis?”

It took me a beat before I got it. “Not ‘bikinis,’ Mother. Detainees,” I said calmly.

“What?”

“Detainees,” I repeated, more loudly, carefully mouthing the word.

“Who’s wearing bikinis in the photos?”

A rephrasing of the question from her only got the same answer. The same confusion was evident on her face as before.

“Detainees, Mother,” I nearly shouted, still trying to make myself understood. It was a moment or two before I realized that the word “detainees” wasn’t one where lip-reading would help much, even if she could see my lips clearly across the room.

I could sense her mounting frustration at not understanding, but my frustration was also rising. I took a deep breath. “Terrorists!” I said loudly. Too loudly, I realized as the gardener outside looked up in shock.

It ran through my mind in an instant that I could be causing a riot here if I wasn’t careful. But he shook his head and went back to work.

My mother’s reaction was slow.

She still looked somewhat confused, but smiled and said merely, “Oh.”

While this was a moment rife with humor, it also got me thinking about issues such as communication as we age and what the complications and implications of the losses involve.

At best, problems occur with usual communication, but what happens as hearing fails? What confusions take place as the fast-moving world moves a bit out of range of our understanding? What form of isolation do these events manifest?

It has been a mere five or six years since the day I took my mother to the ophthalmologist after her cataract surgery. At the time, she mentioned that she could live with the loss of her sight, but that it would make life unbearable if she should lose her hearing.

That time is here. What must this mean for her? How can I help? I am filled with questions and concerns and no hard, fast answers. I seek clarity.

I seek ways to communicate my concerns and my caring to my mother.

A new challenge of communication for us.

There is a Chinese proverb that states that words are just words and without heart they have no meaning.

All said and done, and heartfelt as words of clarity may be, hugs and kisses may just have to do.

What better form of communication, after all, for the time she has left?

CHERRIL DOTY is an artist, writer, and creative coach exploring and enjoying the many mysteries of life in the moment. She can be reached by e-mail at Cherril@cherrildoty.com or by phone at (714) 745-9973.