My son is on the border of turning thirty one. If I do the math it means that I have not seen his face for over fifteen years. That is almost half of how old he is. I never really put my vision loss in those terms before but it was stunning to consider. People tell me that he is a very good looking man. When I last saw him he was a boy. There are not a lot of things that I miss when my vision vanished in 2001 but being able to see the details in a loved ones face tops that list.

In my dreams I still have perfect vision and I am compensated somewhat by being able to see clearly in my dreams. Still, my sons face does not show up in the twilight of my sleep to give me an idea of what he looks like now.

I have a vivid recollection of what his school pictures looked like as they hung on the wall and smiled broadly back at me. I remember the pudgy, boyish face looking pleasantly surprised at the camera. The years on the round oval of school pictures are emblazoned on my mind’s eye.

I remember watching with fascination the old Helen Keller movie in which she groped the face to see what someone looked like. I do not even think that with the tactile sense that I would gain the knowledge of the features that are lost to my not seeing them.

On the other hand, I do know exactly what he looks like from the inside. I have gained some valuable skills in seeing what is really right in front of me. While I cannot see the crook of a smile or a crinkle behind the eyes, I can hear in a hitched voice or a cracked sound what the rest of the facial features are doing to keep up with the noises.

I am not sad and really sad all at the same time. It would be nice to see his face, my granddaughter’s face (which I have never seen), my husband, and the mountains outside my back door.

Oh well. I cannot see them but in my mind they are all extraordinarily beautiful.

How about you? Is there something that you long to see but it may never happen? How about something that you see even better now because you cannot see it?

It is all perspective.

Blessings, Denise