Then, one day when Sophie and I were driving home from a visit to friends, something truly amazing happened. ‘Mum, Mum! I can hear you with my left implan’!’ Sophie exclaimed.
I immediately pulled the car over. ‘What? Sophie! Tell me you’re not kidding!’
She shook her head emphatically, looking at me with a huge smile. ‘I can, Mum. The battery just died on my right implan’, but I can still understan’ what you saying with my new implan’. I can’t believe it!’
What an important moment it was. It was the breakthrough we had been hoping for. I was over the moon with happiness. It had all been worth it! This improved Sophie’s attitude to the new implant and it would be the beginning of better-quality sound for her. I was relieved, because if the first implant broke down, she would have a backup.
It seemed there was never a dull moment in the Li household. Tom was doing well at school, forming strong friendships and very active in all the school sports. Then it was time for all of us to feel another absence in the family because it was his turn to accept the Triers’ invitation to go to St John’s for six months. I didn’t want to send him, either, but Li insisted again, saying, ‘Mary, I was eleven when I left home – Tom is three years older.’ And of course he was right again.
The time away in Houston proved just as beneficial for Tom as it had been for Sophie. Like her, he came back full of confidence and maturity.
Bridie, now nine years old, was attending gym sessions almost every day. It was an intensive and incredibly demanding schedule for one so young, but she was talented enough that her coaches wanted her for the elite state team. Li and I were concerned that she was doing so much gymnastics that her overall education was suffering. I don’t think she picked up a pen at school all through those years. She was really struggling due to exhaustion, even falling asleep in class.
‘Where are all these somersaults going to end, Mary?’ Li asked. ‘She needs a good education, because there isn’t much of a career in gymnastics.’
Not long after, I received a call from the gymnastics coach telling me Bridie had fallen off a high beam. I rushed to the gym and there was Bridie, cradling her arm and trying to be brave. When she saw me, tears started rolling down her cheeks. We hurried to emergency and the X-ray showed clean breaks in both bones in her right forearm. She had to be operated on and was put in plaster for eight weeks. It was clear to us that she had spent too many hours away from us. Our family was more important than gymnastics, and so was Bridie’s education. We told her simply that she wasn’t going back. She didn’t take the news well initially, so Li and I made a secret pact. We would see how it went for a few weeks or so. If she was still longing to return by then, we’d allow her to continue with it.
Being without gymnastics left Bridie a bit off kilter, but before the six weeks were out, her sadness was gone. She had moved on and taken up tennis. She even confessed later that she was relieved she wasn’t going back to gymnastics but couldn’t bear making the decision herself.
Before long, we found ourselves back in Houston for a special occasion. The Houston School for Deaf Children, now known as the Center for Hearing and Speech, had asked Li and Sophie to be guest speakers at their annual black-tie fundraising event. The event was held at the Houstonian, a five-star hotel. Sophie wore a lovely strapless black dress and looked stunning and grown-up with her hair up.
First Li spoke, sharing some of his life experiences with the audience. He then introduced Sophie. ‘Ladies and gentleman, my wife Mary and I could never have imagined that our daughter Sophie, a former student at this school, a profoundly deaf child, could be where she is today. We would have been so happy if she could just have basic language and be able to read, and to have a simple conversation with us. We never dreamed how much Sophie could achieve. And without further ado, I’d like to introduce Sophie Li.’
You could sense the surprise when Sophie walked directly to the piano. She sat down calmly and started playing a piece from her Grade 5 syllabus. The audience went crazy with applause. I turned to our friends who had joined us – the Mad Mothers, Ava Jean, Ginya and Clayton, Charles and Lily, Marcia and Mike Nichols, Kate Crady and even some of Sophie’s St John’s friends. They were teary-eyed listening to her play.
After the applause, Sophie stepped up to the podium. As soon as she began to speak about her journey as a deaf child coping in a hearing world, I could feel the whole room was in awe. It was full of people who understood how difficult it was for a profoundly deaf child to speak, let alone play the piano and get up before 500-plus people to speak with such poise, intonation and clarity – and such insight into her subject. Finally, she thanked the school for helping to change her life. Li and I were lost for words. Mainly they were parents of deaf children, and they approached me later to say what an inspiration Sophie was.
Afterwards, Sophie told me, ‘You know, Mum, it was really you who changed my life.’
This meant the world to me. How I loved her. This had been a huge journey for both of us. Did I ever, ever imagine that she would be able to do this with such confidence? No, it would have been an outcome too impossible for me to even dream.
Back home, Sophie still struggled with friendships at school. She was more serious about schoolwork than her peers, who were more focused on boys and parties. She had one deaf friend, Pip Russell, but they didn’t go to the same school and didn’t see each other often. Luckily, Sophie and Rong Rong were becoming closer and closer. Socialising outside of the family wasn’t a big part of Sophie’s life.
At home, though, she was increasingly moody, because it was exhausting to work hard academically, listen and socialise. It was so upsetting when she’d lock herself away in her room, take her implants off and withdraw inside herself. I could feel her sadness. ‘Why am I deaf? Why am I the only one in my family who’s deaf? Why is my life so hard?’ These were the kinds of questions she would throw at me, and I’m sure they constantly plagued her. ‘I’m sick of trying so hard to get past my deafness and make friends! It’s too hard! How am I ever going to have any friends?’
‘Am I being punished for something I did in a past life?’ was something else she truly seemed to believe. Poor Sophie!
These regular meltdowns were inevitable, I knew that. But God, they were hard to take, and often I would end up in tears of despair myself. How I wished that I could give her a magical answer that would make her happy instantly. But I knew deep down that the only thing we could give her to help was encouragement.
Li would tell her, ‘Others might be lucky enough to be born without any disabilities, but they will still have other challenges to deal with. Sometimes the worst experience in life brings out the best in a person. Sophie, this is your challenge to overcome.’
But we really had no answers for her.
On Sophie’s sixteenth birthday in 2005, we didn’t have a party – we just had an afternoon tea at home with a small group of her friends, including her blind friend, Marina. Marina was at Melbourne Girls Grammar too, in a different year level. I used to tear up when I saw them together. It was so touching. Marina always wanted Sophie to go shopping with her to help choose pretty clothes, and Sophie always wanted Marina to teach her to sing. Marina had an angelic voice.