Written by Kim Owens
Originally published by Beyond Sight Online Magazine 2/25
At the age of ten, my youngest son, Kai, unexpectedly lost his sight. Grief gave me tunnel-vision, all I could see were the things that blindness would steal from him. People with sight generally agree vision is the most valuable of the traditional five senses, followed by hearing, touch, smell, and taste.
My unchecked internalized ableism made me fearful. How would Kai interact with the world around him? How would he continue to do all the things he loved?
Thankfully, with support from his family, educators, and the disabled community, Kai found a path forward. To surf, he floated in the ocean until he understood the rhythm of the waves. When the time felt right, he’d paddle fast and hop on his board. To read, he learned to differentiate between the tiny dots of braille until they made letters, then words, then full sentences.
Once, on a road trip, we stopped for smoothies. Back on the road, he took a long sip then said, “Ugh, gross. This tastes like cheesy cardboard!”
He passed the cup to me and I gave it a sniff. It smelled normal – strawberry-banana. That’s when I noticed the large truck blocking the intersection ahead. I said, “I think you’re smelling a trash truck. Hold on, we’re about to pass it.”
After a good laugh, and some distance, he tried it again and said, “Okay, it’s tasty now.”
To this day, we still call the trash truck the cheesy cardboard truck.
I always loved to comb the beach for shells and shark teeth while my kids surfed and skimmed. I would have described beachcombing as a purely visual experience – a treasure hunt. Late one afternoon, as I handed Kai my finds, he said, “Mom, do you hear the tinkling shells when the waves hit the beach?”
“No,” I said.
“Close your eyes and tune in.”
I did and there they were! A beautiful chorus of tiny shells singing in the waves. How had I missed that all these years? Gratitude washed over me.
Over the years, I’d realized that Kai’s world is different – but not less. He experiences the world in unique and expansive ways. Now when I’m feeling overwhelmed or anxious, I close my eyes and tune in to my other senses. It’s become a meditative practice that I can do anywhere at almost any time.
At the beach I intentionally tune into the sound of the waves, the feel of the hot sand on my feet, the smell of the salt air, and the taste of the refreshing drinks from the cooler. The practice of closing my eyes and using my other senses is grounding and brings me into the present. Next time you’re feeling off-kilter or in need of gratitude remember the tinkling shells and close your eyes to expand your sensory awareness.
Navigating Blindness 