3.31.2009

Dear Aaron,
Tonight you took your hearing aids off for the last time...or at least the last time they will be on when you take them off. I'm planning on letting you wear them after you recovery so we don't get too accustomed to life without ear attachments. Besides, you really like your hearing aids. You point to them all day long whenever you hear surprising sounds like the microwave, the doorbell, dogs barking, seagulls squawking, and (your favorite) when I let you honk the horn in the car. You also love taking them out to get my attention--it's a fool proof way to make mom come running, so why would I take that tool away from you? Besides, the cochlear implant will be a little more cumbersome to wear and I don't want us to forget how we use our aids throughout the day (for better or worse).

I wish this could be a vacation from hearing aids, but that would also mean it's a vacation from sound...and you love sound. It crushes me that we have to take you away from the banging of pots and pans, revving the engine of your toy 4-wheeler, our "Aaron I love you" goodnight song, etc. Yes, we have your signs, and I'm lucky you're so darn smart. You'll still be able to tell me what you see, what you want, and how you're feeling. But sound is so much more than communication. I don't even want you to touch the piano until you're "activated." I don't want it to let you down. I'm just hanging onto April 23--stretching for the day when we get to wake up your ears. It will be hard, but one of the best days of my life (and hopefully yours).

I want you to hear the cooing of pigeons, rather than just the squawking of the seagulls at the park. You were so excited when we fed the birds the other day. They begged for your bread with a symphony of "coos" and "caws." You heard some of it and let us know by touching your ear again and again as you made your open-mouth, awe-struck face. You stood still for the longest time pointing at them with your right hand, then your left, then to your hear, then to me. I can't wait to take you there again with your implants on--what will you do then with so many new sounds craving your attention?

It's 12:01 am and I just finished feeding you the last "food" you can have before surgery today. You still love your bottle and love stroking my hair as you sip. We'll be admitted at 9:45am, get checked out by a few doctors, change out of your surgery pajamas into your surgery gown, and hopefully avoid all emotional breakdowns. I'll be strong, I promise. You panic when I do, so I can't let on that there's anything to be nervous about. With all of the anxiety that has built up inside me for the past year, I expected to be a mess right now. My emotions have been rather messy for the past few months. I wish I could take it from you, that I could do this for you. But the truth is, this isn't about me. It's about God's plan for you to become the strong person He needs you to be. And, I know you are helping me become the person He needs me to be.

Choosing this for you is something we never imagined would need to do as parents, but our choice gives you a choice. If there comes a day when you decide that you are done with sound, we will sign with you. We didn't choose for you to be deaf, but we have never wished that you would be different from the perfect person you are. We are so proud of you--proud of your determination, your wonder, your brains and brawn. We know we have many proud parental moments to come.

I didn't anticipate the welcome calm I feel right now. I know that the next few weeks won't be a walk in the park, but whatever comes I know that God walking with us. We love you.

Love, Mom and Dad