Down the Tubes Productions

Our family suffered a tragic, unexpected loss in August 2025. In the time since we have navigated holidays, birthday celebrations, personal triumphs, and the minutiae of life that continues in the midst of grief. We strive to celebrate the living while honoring the departed by sharing stories that start with laughter but dissolve into tears and heartache. It has been an extraordinarily difficult period for our family but we have remained stronger, together, especially this Spring season where we have been in the midst of recognizing the achievements of my nephew as he graduates from high school. 

As luck would have it, my nephew attended school in the district where I teach. I had the pleasure of meeting him as he disembarked from a big yellow school bus as a tiny, wide eyed kindergarten student. He held my hand as I escorted him to his classroom, dropping him in the care of his wonderful teacher with reassurances that my office was just down the hallway. In what felt like the blink of an eye, I was preparing to attend his high school graduation clad in a black robe and hood, having been presented the opportunity to meet him center stage to confer his diploma. 

I panicked. 

As always, my hearing loss takes center stage in every moment of every day, and a graduation day was no exception. My primary concern was that I was going to miss hearing his name, thus leaving him standing there in his cap and gown looking around for his already absent-minded ADHD Aunty. I worried about meeting and socializing with both known and unknown people at a pre-graduation faculty reception.  The difficulty meeting people for the first time involves hearing names and answering a myriad of “get to know you” small talk questions which raises the blood pressure of even the most extroverted hard of hearing person. The final piece of the hearing loss anxiety puzzle was the realization of sitting through speeches. Lots of them. In an echoing arena with a zero percent chance of any accommodations for the deaf/hard of hearing if attendance at past graduation ceremonies were any indication. 

It was enough to make me stick my head into my gown and zip it straight up and over, akin to a turtle tucking into its shell for protection. I was on the verge of a full retreat into isolation amidst the panic, anxiety, and morbid thoughts of how I was going to navigate this whole mess – while knowing full well that I had no choice in the matter. 

I took a deep breath. Then another. And then several more as my brain raced around compiling a list of strategies that I could employ to support as close to a successful outing and navigation of this graduation celebration. Here is what I did: 

1. I reached out to fellow colleagues who I knew were going to be conferring degrees to high school seniors for a second or third time. I asked them what to expect at the ceremony, how I would know when to approach and walk across the stage, and any other specifics that would be helpful for me as the big day approached. 

2. I connected with a colleague and friend who was going to be handing over a diploma to her son who was a classmate and friend of my nephew. I asked if I could follow her and sit with her at the ceremony. Her son would be ahead of my nephew in alphabetical order by about 10 names which would allow me to watch what happens when she goes to the stage. This was another safeguard for me as I can never rely completely on what I am being told in terms of directions presented verbally due to my hearing loss. 

3. I made arrangements to attend the pre-graduation reception with fellow teachers that I have taught alongside for the better part of 25 years. Their voices and mannerisms are beyond familiar, and I knew that they would accommodate and include me in conversations as needed. I also knew that I could speak up for my needs in a social situation and they would be accommodating and supportive – especially when approached by new and unfamiliar people. As is my curse in this life, I was approached almost immediately by someone that sought me out specifically after inquiring about me to my boss. (I will never understand why people feel the need to speak to me all the time. I am going to start carrying around a sign that says, “Do not approach. Not friendly. May bite.”)

4. I spoke with the faculty member that was coordinating the graduation and “directing traffic” for lack of a better description. I disclosed my hearing loss and explained the role that I would be fulfilling during the ceremony. He was incredibly gracious and invited me to stand near him about 10 names prior to my nephew being called to ensure that I would know – in his words – “when to go”. I was pleasantly surprised by his kindness as disclosing a disability carries with it the risk of misunderstanding, judgement and sometimes fear. I could not have asked for a better interaction. 

5. As for the speeches? I heard most of them (I think). Luckily, all graduation addresses are similar enough in their phrasing and message that I knew I wasn’t missing anything earth shattering. I may approach the district administration and discuss the inclusion of live captions at future ceremonies, but at the time of this writing my singular focus is wrapping up a rollicking, adventurous, and hair raising school year. 

On the evening of graduation, I proudly processed into the arena confident in the safety nets I had woven for myself to ensure successful participation. 

My palms were slightly sweaty and my heart was aflutter as I handed the diploma to the little kindergartener that had grown up before my eyes. As we embraced with wide smiles and tears almost falling we celebrated his achievements, the hardship that we are navigating together, and the excitement of what lies ahead for him at Princeton University.

His Dad would have been proud. 

We miss you, Frank.