Noah's Story

When our son Noah was born, we had no idea how much strength, connection and joy would come from this journey with a hearing difference. His story has shaped not only his path, but ours as a family. Early on, someone shared the poem “Welcome to Holland” with us and over time, it began to resonate. We hadn’t landed where we expected, but we were exactly where we needed to be. And in this unexpected place, we discovered beauty, strength and a whole new way to love. 

Noah’s hearing difference was first detected through newborn hearing screening. At the time, it felt like just another test. But follow-up appointments quickly became more frequent and more serious, filled with repeat hearing tests and eventually genetic testing. Those early weeks and months were full of uncertainty, fear, and endless questions. What type of hearing loss did Noah have? Would it progress? Would he learn to speak? Could he sign? What would his future look like?

At nine months old, Noah received his first pair of hearing aids, and it felt like we had taken our first real step toward understanding how to support him. The learning curve was steep, and it felt as if we were climbing uphill with no map, learning as we went. Suddenly, we had to understand audiograms, hearing technology, speech development, and communication strategies—all while figuring out how to advocate for Noah in everyday life, including while at daycare.

We quickly learned we were never truly alone on this journey. We’re incredibly grateful that, early on our journey, we were connected to Michigan Hands & Voices. Through them, we were paired with a parent mentor who had walked a similar path. She helped us make sense of what we were feeling, gave us practical guidance, and reminded us—often and lovingly—that everything would be okay. That sense of hope and community was a lifeline.

We also enrolled in Early On, which provided critical early intervention services. Through Early On, we were introduced to the basics of American Sign Language (ASL), and our whole family began learning together. Signing became a beautiful way for Noah to connect with us and express himself—especially in those early years when his access to spoken language was still developing.

As Noah has grown, so has our understanding of how to support him. We’ve learned how to build a team—from audiologists and speech-language pathologists to daycare providers, teachers of the deaf, and special education staff. And now, as we navigate the world of individualized education programs (IEPs), we continue to learn how to create the most supportive, inclusive, and accessible learning environment for him.

We know we can’t do this alone, and we are so thankful for the resources and relationships that continue to guide us. 

Now, at five years old, Noah is thriving. He is an amazing little boy who adores his 9-year-old big brother, Adrian, and looks up to him in every way. The bond they share—from playful moments to sibling squabbles—is one of our greatest joys. Noah is bilingual in spoken English and ASL, and his personality shines through in everything he does. He loves sports—especially baseball, basketball, and lacrosse—and spends his time crafting, playing outside with friends, and embracing the world around him with curiosity and excitement. He is full of energy, imagination, and joy—just like any other five-year-old. 

Looking back, we are incredibly proud—not only of Noah, but of Adrian, who has embraced his role as big brother with heart and compassion, and of ourselves as parents. One of our earliest fears was simply the unknown of what the future might hold. Looking back now, we wish we could have reached out to our past selves and said, “You’ve got this. It’s going to be okay. You will grow in ways you never imagined—as parents and as a family. Yes, there will be highs and lows, moments of doubt and moments of joy. But it’s all part of the journey—just like for anyone else. And you will make it through to the other side, stronger, wiser and more connected than ever before.” We’ve walked through some hard moments together—from the fear of the unknown to the victories of hearing first words or seeing the joy of communication—and we’ve come out stronger as a family. We are excited about what lies ahead and grateful for how far we’ve come.

As the poem “Welcome to Holland” reminds us, while we may not live solely within the hearing community, the Deaf and Hard of Hearing community is truly remarkable. Our journey may look different than we expected, yet it’s beautiful—full of wonder, love, and meaning. We’ve learned to embrace this journey, to celebrate its beauty, and to recognize that we are exactly where we’re supposed to be.

Noah’s hearing difference does not define him. What defines him is his joy, his determination, his spirit, and the love he gives so freely. We share his story not just to raise awareness, but to remind other families that hearing loss is not the end of a dream—it’s the beginning of a new, powerful, and incredibly meaningful one.