We always knew Charlee would carve her own path in this world. After a pregnancy full of sciatica and sickness, she surprised us by arriving on the living room floor. Neighbors helped with her delivery, and by the time paramedics came, I was holding her wrapped in towels, waiting for our ambulance ride. She was beautiful, looking so much like her big brother, Logan. Even though her arrival was unexpected, I felt calm. With Logan, I had been nervous and unsure. With Charlee, I felt like I knew what I was doing.
At the hospital, they did a hearing test but couldn’t pick up anything. They said it was probably fluid and told us to come back in a week. I didn’t worry. But a week later, the results were the same. Over the next several months, we had five different hearing tests, and every time the audiologist said it was fluid. They reassured us that her hearing was improving.
Still, I noticed differences. Our dog barked, but Charlee never startled. She didn’t turn when I spoke. She wasn’t cooing or babbling like Logan had. I started asking questions. At six months, I asked if I should begin learning sign language just in case. The audiologist told me no, that it would hold her back. I regret not trusting my instincts then.
At nine months, we were told her hearing was “normal.” I knew that wasn’t true. She didn’t react to sounds, didn’t make consonant sounds, nothing. I pushed harder. Finally, I sought out a different audiologist, and within weeks, we had the truth: Charlee had hearing loss and would need devices to access sound. I remember feeling strangely relieved. My instincts had been right all along.
My husband, James, reacted differently. He had found comfort in every “normal” test before. Music was a big part of his life, and the idea that he couldn’t pass it down to his daughter broke his heart. For me, the diagnosis felt like clarity. For him, it was grief.
When Charlee was almost a year old, she had an auditory brainstem response test. The results showed severe to profound hearing loss in both ears. Within the limits of the equipment, she didn’t respond to any sound at all. Without help, she would never hear birds, voices, or music. The doctors quickly talked about cochlear implants, but I needed time to process.
I had never met a deaf person before. I knew nothing about implants. So I reached out to our local deaf center. The next day, I walked into a parent-infant group and immediately felt embraced. We met deaf adults who signed, spoke, and shared their stories with honesty. Some told us how they grew up without sign language and how difficult that was. These conversations gave us perspective.
In the end, we decided Charlee would have cochlear implants for access to spoken English, but we would use American Sign Language as our family’s primary language. ASL was immediate. We didn’t have to wait for surgery or devices, it was a way to connect right away.
Her first signs, especially her first “I love you,” are memories I will treasure forever. They meant more to me than any viral “hearing for the first time” video ever could. Signing became our lifeline.
The first year was a whirlwind of surgery, speech therapy, and learning sign language. It was isolating at times, but we built a community around us. We took ASL classes, met with a Deaf Mentor, and found friends through deaf events and even a deaf church. Our signing was clumsy at first, but people encouraged us. Slowly, it became natural.
There are still challenges. Recently, we learned that Charlee’s implants are part of a recall, and her devices have started to fail. She doesn’t want to wear them anymore. It’s hard, but because we use ASL at home, she never loses access to communication. Whatever happens, we’re ready.
Today, at four years old, Charlee is thriving. She goes to a deaf school where she learns in both ASL and English. She signs at home with us and Logan, and she shines at deaf camp. She’s a natural storyteller, already acting out stories with expression and humor. I can see her on stage one day.
Looking back, we started this journey overwhelmed and unsure. James grieved for the things he thought he lost, but now he shares music with Charlee differently. They put their hands on the speakers to feel the rhythm, and we sign songs together. It may not be what we expected, but it’s just as beautiful.
Charlee has taught us that language is more than sound. She has given us a community, a new way of life, and endless joy. We are grateful every day for her, for ASL, and for the village that surrounds us.
