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A very niche thread: when I was a little girl, my mom and I loved to dance. Back then it was Shania Twain, LeAnn Rimes, Whitney, Celine. We sang in the kitchen, in the living room, in the bath.
And then I lost my hearing, and the singing stopped.
And then I lost my hearing, and the singing stopped.
In the aftermath of my hospitalization, my parents frequently saw a family social worker. One visit, the SW asked my mom why there was never any music in the house. My mom broke down in tears.
She said it felt like a betrayal to listen to anything when I’d loved music so much.
She said it felt like a betrayal to listen to anything when I’d loved music so much.
In 1999, I was implanted—something I’d pushed for. I was desperate to hear music again.
But then the CI was turned on, and nothing sounded right. Music was ugly. Everything was ugly. I was a miserable and angry and upset. This wasn’t what I’d signed up for.
But then the CI was turned on, and nothing sounded right. Music was ugly. Everything was ugly. I was a miserable and angry and upset. This wasn’t what I’d signed up for.
It took a year for me to adjust. A slow, painful year. And then. Just when sound had become something familiar again, my school went on a field trip to see The Phantom of the Opera.
I had no idea what it was. No idea what to expect. But I remember, with perfect clarity, sitting there in the dark theater and weeping. I could feel the music in my chest. I could *hear* it, and it was beautiful. And it stuck with me like nothing else ever has.
From then on, I’ve been obsessed. I’ve seen the show nearly 8 times, and the first time my mom and I went together in NYC, we both wept together. Although I re-discovered a love of music and Broadway in general, this was the show we kept coming back to.
When my Little was just under a year old, I put on Phantom one night while I cleaned my kitchen. She was sitting in a high chair, eating Cheerios. All of a sudden, she stopped. Her eyes filled with tears. Her hands went up in the air. I’d never seen her so moved by anything.
People say that it’s odd to have a 3yo who is so hugely obsessed with something as, admittedly, mature as TPotO. But to me and my mom, it feels like our own personal miracle. It saved me when I thought I’d lost music forever, and it latched to her the instant she was born.
26 years after losing my hearing, I live in a house that’s full of music, with a little girl who cries with me at the big finishes. “That gave me goosebumps, Mama,” she says, dressed in her Christine cloak and wearing her mask.
“Me too, Bug,” I say, and I am so so grateful.
“Me too, Bug,” I say, and I am so so grateful.
If you’ve read this far into my thread, thanks for sticking with it 
And may you find the magical moments in your life, too.
And may you find the magical moments in your life, too.
