“Coda: Farewell to a Dream” published at Gobblers & Masticadores

On By Mike U.In Essays

Hello, everyone. I’m pleased to let you know that a series of essays I’ve written about my experience as a deaf guy in a hearing world is being published at Gobblers & Masticadores, and the third installment in the series has gone live today. Sincere thanks to Juan Re Crivello for this opportunity to share my experiences with his readers. Today’s essay is “Coda: Farewell to a Dream ” and you can read it by following this link:

“Coda: Farewell to a Dream” at Gobblers & Masticadores

It’s my hope that sharing my life as a deaf person will raise awareness of this “invisible disability” and the impact it has on those of us with hearing loss, and perhaps enlighten those with normal hearing in order to bridge the gap between us. I hope you enjoy it.

Once again, much gratitude to Juan Re Crivello for his kindness and generosity. It’s truly an honor for me.

Don’t forget to follow and subscribe to Gobblers & Masticadores, where you’ll find some wonderful writing and plenty of food for thought.

44 thoughts on ““Coda: Farewell to a Dream” published at Gobblers & Masticadores”

    1. “Time dulls the grief, but the pain never goes away…” This is so true. From my desk, I can look over at my closet and see my three guitars, two of which are in cases (almost like tombs at this point). They’ll always be with me even though I can no longer play them. Memories resonate in their strings more strongly than any notes or chords I ever played. Despite the sadness of losing my ability to experience music, there are still a lot of really good memories associated with my guitars, and I try to focus on those good memories. As time goes by, the happy stuff seems to float to the top, you know? 🙂

      Thanks for such a kind comment, Iseult. I truly appreciate it. 🙂

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  4. An incredibly tight essay, especially considering how much ground you covered. (And ugh, no farm but my mom and I *lived*/hid in low-rent or housing until her Godsent brother bought a decent house to include us. Until then, I was exposed to all sorts of [mostly male] monsters.) You already know that I’m looking forward to reading the rest of your essays, right? 😊

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    1. I’m sorry to know you had to endure the darkness of humanity while growing up, too. No one should have to be exposed to the monstrous side of humanity, especially children. Thank goodness for your uncle and his help! 🙂 There are good folks in this world, although sometimes that doesn’t seem to be the case. I want to believe that goodness always prevails in the end. I know that’s unrealistic, but I’m sort of a hopeless dreamer, I reckon. At any rate, I’m so glad things got better for you, my friend, and that you found hope and deliverance from those monsters.

      Thanks a bunch for your always present support. More essays to come! I appreciate you and all you do. 🙂

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      1. Thank you🌷. I should clarify, only one monster terrorized our household, but it was the same (and even worse) for so many others in my childhood and then as a young adult. But yes, good prevails sooner or later (nowadays, cops and courts are legally expected to care about DV; I knew little boys like you). And I’m so sorry for all your losses, not least of all the music. It’s all totally unfair, but you’ve turned many damages into beautiful photography, stunning poetry, and crisp intelligent writing — which truly blesses others. Keep on keepin’ on.

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    1. You’re so kind, and I really appreciate your support. Sometimes sharing our hurts and failures is the only way to move past them. They’ll always be a part of who we are, of course, but their grip on us loosens and their shackles fall off of us eventually, and they become memories instead of monsters. Your support is very much cherished, my friend. Thanks so much! 🙂

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    1. A big thank you to you, my friend! I appreciate your kind support always, and I’m happy to see you stop by and say hello. Sending you a big hello, too, and wishing you the best. 🙂

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  7. Congrats on the publication, Mike. This is a moving series, and this post, in particular, demonstrated how utterly profound the loss of your hearing was for you. It’s heartbreaking that it ended not only your ability to play but your dreams. ❤

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    1. Thanks a bunch, Diana. I definitely had a lot to say in this post since music means so much to me (even now as a deaf guy). I really do miss playing my guitars, and despite some awful memories associated with how my dad tried to ruin things, most of my memories of music and guitars are pretty darn wonderful. So, there’s that. 🙂

      And by the way, how ’bout that ’80s hairstyle I was rocking in the photo which accompanies the essay? 😀 My little sister had just finished cosmetology school and I wanted to get a perm (my hair was always so straight and flat) so she did the honors. I thought it would be sort of cool to have a perm and I was pleased with it, although up at college I was mocked because of it. Oh well. Still, the photo of my drummer buddy Jeff and myself brings back some really cool memories. 🙂

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  9. What a sad story. (Rock) music is an important part of my life and I’m sure I’d be lost without it. I’m sure that like you, I’d still have the jukebox in my brain keeping me entertained. And don’t worry, other than a bit of Cracker and some Modest Mouse, nothing worthwhile has come out since ’90. My own hearing loss (as well as double vision and what I consider adult-onset autism) started after getting hit by a car in 1995. It’s been a slow degradation, but more recently has caused quite a few problems in my life. I know what you mean by wanting someone to blame. For years, I blamed careless drivers. Now I pretty much blame myself. It was inevitable that I would be hit by a car on my bike. I thought I was invincible. I’m not.

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    1. Hey, Jeff. Thanks for the thoughtful comment. It’s good to know nothing of note (a pun) has come out musically since 1990. 😀 Entire genres have come and gone since then. It’s such a weird feeling to know I’ve missed out on so much by being stuck in a pre-1990 time-warp. Up until a few years ago, I’d watch MTV and VH-1 with the sound muted (I couldn’t understand the music anyway) just to see what was happening in the music scene. There were bands whose music I thought I might have liked based on how they played in their videos, but I know that can be misleading. I suppose being stuck in the Classic Rock era of the ’70s and early ’80s isn’t so bad after all. 🙂

      Man, I’m sorry to learn about your accident and the resulting injuries. It sounds like you’ve had your own unique set of challenges to overcome. It can be a rough detour in life to be forced to change directions so abruptly in terms of having one or more of our sense damaged. Progressive losses can be really frustrating as we slowly watch things fade away and there’s not much we can do, if anything, to reverse the damage. Here’s hoping for the best for both of us with regards to dealing with our challenges. 🙂

      Thanks for reading and taking time to comment. Much appreciated. *tips cap*

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  10. I’m always late to the party, Mike. But I read the latest installment. Phew. It’s some quality writing, heavy reading, emotional and inspirational at the same time. I realise we should never take our passions for granted or the gifts we’ve been given. Music lifts the soul, it’s like magic how magic how it happens. And although your story has a sadness to it, when you lost a major part of your hearing, there is a resilient vein coursing through it. You have not given up on your passion for creating. The guitar was another aspect of your versatility. For you are still writing music with your poetry and your essays
    The gift that you are is still giving. This installment of your story has me motivated to face today.
    Thanks for sharing Mike. Thanks for still making music to lift the soul. 👏💪💙

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    1. Many thanks, Nigel, for your steadfast support. It means a lot to me, and I value your kindness and friendship. Just wanted you to know. 🙂

      It’s been an adventure, you could say, and it’s not over yet. There’s no telling what’s up around the bend (I don’t think even John Fogerty knows). I’ll likely end up completely deaf in the not-so-distant future, but at this point I’m just trying to accept my fate and stop fighting it. I can’t win anyway. So I share, and hope it can help someone else. And music still manifests itself in my writing, which is pretty cool if you ask me. 🙂

      I appreciate that you took the time to read this piece, and it really inspires me to know it inspires you. Win = win in my book. Thanks again, buddy. 🙂

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  12. Mike, wow, what a difficult series to write. Thank you for sharing your life with us. Hopefully it not only helps you, but helps others who have experienced some of the same things.
    You are brave and courageous, it is sometimes hard to share the intimate details of our past, especially those that rekindle the pain.
    Thank you for trusting enough to share.
    Blessings and peace, my dear friend!

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    1. Thanks, Peggy. I’d written this series of essays back in 2021 but they languished on my blog because no one knew they existed. I was surprised and excited when Juan Re Crivello asked to publish them. I was unsure how they’d go over with readers, but so far the responses have been so positive and encouraging. It can, indeed, be difficult to share our deepest selves with the world, but sometimes that yearning to be heard is so strong that there’s no denying it, and stuff just pours out of our souls, for better or worse. That release is so liberating and uplifting. Once we put ourselves out there for public consumption, it’s out of our hands, and like you said, we must simply trust that we’ll be well received. I’m just glad there are some wonderful folks like you who have blessed me by taking the time to explore what I’ve written. I can’t really explain how important this is to me. It’s a validation of my existence, you see, and it makes me feel as though all I’ve gone through in my life perhaps has some meaning after all.

      Thanks so much for your support and encouragement. I’m glad to call you a friend. 🙂

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  13. Congratulations, Mike, and I left a comment on the other site as well. What I didn’t mention is the smile I got when reading about your mom asking you to play your songs for everyone. A typical mom wanting to show off her talented son. But as I kept reading, I got teary-eyed. Music and singing was a big part of my youth too, so in a way, I understand that passion you had. And I’m saddened that it was taken away from you. But you are a gifted writer, and hopefully, that has filled the void. Hugs ❤️

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    1. Thank you kindly, Lauren. Yeah, looking back on the whole “Pickles & Cheese” period, I can laugh about it now, but man, when I was a kid it was unbearable! 😀 I suppose my mom was proud of me, and nowadays I can appreciate that. But you know how kids can be sometimes. 🙂

      I’ve always had a passion to create, whether it was drawing as a kid, or writing or music or photography (I tried acrylic painting once in 8th grade and I hold the word-record for Worst Painting of All-Time). At least I still have an outlet for creativity. I’m so glad my counselor convinced me to start a blog two years ago. It’s rekindled my love for writing and creativity…and it’s allowed me to come into contact with some really good people like you along the way. Thanks for being so supportive, my friend. And thanks for reading and commenting. You’re always welcome here. 🙂

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      1. Hi Mike, I can understand how unbearable it was back then. And I’m glad you have that passion to create and began your blog because I’m lucky to know you as well. Your writing and stories enrich the lives of your readers. But I still feel bad when I read about the ugly times in your childhood. And I hope that someday they will merely be a tiny dot in your memory. Hugs, my friend.

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    2. Thanks, Lauren. Every day that goes by is another day further away from those events of my childhood. Sometimes time is the only thing that heals, even if that healing is glacially slow. Someone who looks for silver linings may say that each new day is a new beginning. That seems a bit too rose-tinted for me, but each new day does mean that I’m still surviving, and perhaps that has meaning in the grand scheme of things.

      Thanks again for everything, my friend. Hugs to you, too! 🙂

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    1. Thanks so much, Xenia. I think the strangest, most surprising thing of all is that music is still the central part of my life even though I can no longer appreciate it with my ears. There’s not a moment in my waking life when there’s not a song playing on my mind’s jukebox. I often dream of playing my guitars and even singing, even though I was a horrible singer. 😀 It’s rather fascinating, and I think it shows how resilient we are as humans, how we’re able to hang onto things, to persevere, even when all seems lost. I’ve missed out on so much music over the past 33+ years, but my memories of music are vital and vibrant.

      I really appreciate your taking time to read this essay and for leaving such nice comment. I’m always delighted to see you stop by. 🙂

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