Perfectly Imperfect Photography

Yesterday, in a beautiful ceremony that my Mother planned years before her death, we honored her life and said our goodbyes.

If you knew my mom, you knew strength.

Not loud strength. Not flashy strength. But the kind you build quietly over a lifetime of doing hard things because you have no other choice.

She was born on May 11, 1944, in Pittston, Pennsylvania, the 2nd of 11 children. She never met her father. He was killed in Normandy during World War II just one month after she was born. She was raised by her grandmother, and from the very beginning, life required resilience of her.

She was born deaf. She also had deformities in both thumbs, which meant she lived her entire life without the full use of her hands - relying only on her fingers to do what most of us take for granted. And later in life, she lost vision in one eye.

Layer upon layer of challenge.

And yet - she worked. She sewed. She raised two daughters as a single mother. She built a life.

Our world is not built for the deaf.

And when the deaf grow elderly, it becomes even harder. Being admitted to a hospital or nursing home is not the same experience for them. Not even close. Deafness is often mistaken for “just old age hearing loss.” People assume if they speak louder, it will solve the problem.

It doesn’t.

Deafness is not about volume. It is about language.

It is hard being deaf and aging.

But she never stopped being strong. She never stopped being independent. She never stopped fighting in her own quiet way.

She taught me determination. She taught me compassion. She taught me how to stand up for someone whose voice isn’t easily heard.

Her greatest accomplishment was not surviving hardship - it was her family. Her daughters. Her grandchildren. Her great-grandchildren. They are the proof that her life mattered.

Mom, you were strong in ways many will never fully understand.

Your voice was powerful - even in silence.

We will carry your strength forward.

And we will miss you more than words can say.