Photographer Going Blind | A Morgan Moment | Heidi Morgan Photography

Going blind? Definitely a photographer’s worst nightmare. One must see light in order to capture it. As a visual storyteller, I love seeing the day — and later, the images — unfold. So you can see where I am going with the incompatibility of blindness and photography.

Enter Friday night, a double date. My friend Christy and I are both married to “hybrids,” as they refer to themselves. Our hubbies are both half-Asian, the other half love. Anyway, our time together is always filled with antics and laughing. However, there is a trust. Last night, we needed it!

Enter Opaque, a restaurant in San Francisco where you dine in the dark! We made reservations and, before entering, placed our orders off the gourmet menus. Sunder and I liked two items, so we decided to SHARE. How the heck do you share gracefully in the dark?

Enter Katie, our waitress. She arrived at the entrance, eyes closed. She’s completely blind! She instructed our chain of four to walk with arms here, facing here, watch this bar or this corner. We went through a tunnel of darkness until we reached our table. She seated each one of us. Four adults, now seated in the darkness. PANIC!

Enter my hybrid. Sunder was quiet, then not so quiet. Cocktail or not, he was ready to run. Katie arrived out of nowhere, soothing him — US! — and describing what techniques work best for her as a blind person.

Enter the food. Wow! BTW, sharing in the dark is not pretty. We wore alot of food on our faces and clothing. One nice thing? Sunder resorted to feeding me by hand, feeling softly for my cheek then lips before patiently waiting for me to take a bite. Oh, romantic hybrid!

Enter life lesson. The night was profound for Sunder and me because we flew out of those restaurant doors after just two hours, relieved to have our seeing eyes back. I could never live like that! I remember this going through my head more than once during the otherwise-fabulous evening. Katie was patient, showing the love and graciousness that SHE deserves but is often denied in the sighted world. My own mother has become blind due to a hereditary diagnosis of retinitis pigmentosa.

Mom has had only occasional intrusions of light for the last six years. She is not able to see my handsome hybrid’s face. She had to believe Grandma when she said that he’s a stud.Mom cannot watch the kids grow before her, not even when they model their new outfits or bring boyfriends over for careful screening! She cannot see my images that I excitedly dance around, and must rely on my sometimes-impatient descriptions of what should be limitless sentences describing my worldly travels.

Mom requires me to tell her what is happening during movies that we watch. Imagine watching “Dear John” together and having to narrate the kissing scenes. But mom has gotten smart over the years; she listens and hears others’ deep sighs. Can’t she just wait? Listen more carefully? I just wanna be free. So she becomes quiet, a wallfly, asks no more questions.

Enter guilt. The first call the hubby and I need to make today is to Mom. I’m so sorry! I understand why you pull back on my arm as a I lead you. I understand why leaving the house — even with a ride and an escort — can be scary. I know why you use your fingers to make sure that you don’t burn yourself with the coffee. I know now why asking others is sometimes easier than spending the ten minutes taking the dog to potty. And I’m sorry.

The second call? Reservation desk at Opaque. We are taking the kids!

Whether it’s Opaque or another venue, I encourage you to learn as we did. Set aside the control, enter the unknown, and put yourself in another’s shoes. It’s “enlightening”…