Hello Darkness, My Old Friend: How Daring Dreams and Unyielding Friendship Turned One Man’s Blindness Into an Extraordinary Vision for Life

by Sanford D. Greenberg

I was holding an instrument that was making music on its own, as if it were inclined to do so. I withhold these kinds of secrets from people—the secret life of the blind. I fitted the mouthpiece into the instrument and put my lips to it. I could hear the smiles of the people at the party, lips pulling back against teeth and gums. My wife told me to play something. As I put the instrument to my lips I remembered: embouchure. But my brother, a sweet man, said softly that I had better not try to play the instrument. “It’s the pressure,” he said. The pressure from playing the instrument could be painful for my eyes. It is an aspect of glaucoma. To play a wind instrument might cause blood vessels in my eyes to pop. My wife left the room; I found out later she was in tears. Yes, it was sad, very sad. I thanked her nonetheless, deeply, sincerely. But later that night, when the other guests were gone and she and my brother and sister-in-law were asleep, I found my way to my study, where I had placed the trumpet. Secretly, I worried that I would not be able to find it and would have to ask for help. It was in its case, right on my desk. As I opened it, the clasps snapping back seemed awfully loud. I took out the trumpet, covetously. It was not that I intended to play it, although I did insert the mouthpiece and put the instrument up to my mouth again, like kissing it. Then I just held it against my chest. I liked the heft of it. I liked the way it felt through the fabric of my nigh...