Daughter's sudden death after I went deaf

Deafness and Death: How I Lost My Hearing, Then My Daughter

Between May 2021 and April 2023, my world changed in ways I never saw coming.

First came the deafness.
Sudden, total. The kind that leaves you reeling not just from silence, but from the emotional and financial panic of how to live life without sound. Overwhelmed doesn’t begin to describe it. I spent months bouncing between hearing specialists, tests, procedures — and eventually, five exhausting trips to Vanderbilt in Nashville for what would become my cochlear implant surgery in April 2023.

That alone was enough to bear.

But then came January 24, 2023 — the day my daughter, Stephanie, died.

I hadn’t seen her since 2020. Addiction had taken hold of her life, and while I grieved that distance in private, I also never got to speak with her — not as a deaf father. We never had that chance.

The Message That Shattered Me

That morning, I received a Facebook message from someone I didn’t know.
It said I needed to call Stephanie’s aunt, Misty, immediately.
I explained I couldn’t hear phone calls and asked if I could text instead.

She replied: “This is too important.”

So, I walked over to a neighbor’s house — someone kind enough to help.
I asked if she would listen on speakerphone and write down what was said.

As the call began, I watched my neighbor’s face shift from calm to horrified.
She started writing furiously. I leaned over to read.
The words: “could not resuscitate.”

I interrupted:
“Wait… are you saying Stephanie is dead?”

Two blows now lived in my heart.
Deaf. And death.

I had no partner. No pets.
I was alone when it happened.

One Last Goodbye

My brother Tim dropped everything and drove over. I made another call — this time, trying to find where Stephanie was. She had gotten married during those lost years. Misty reached out to her husband and gave him my number. He called. My brother listened and relayed what was said.

Stephanie’s body was going to be cremated.
I asked the funeral home for one request:
Could I please see her one last time?
They said yes.

Tim and I drove 40 minutes with flowers in hand. I dressed up. I stood beside her — deaf, broken, proud, and grieving. Tim took a photo. It’s one I’ll include here.

That night, he stayed with me.
We watched old home movies I’d uploaded to my personal YouTube channel.
We let the grief settle over us like fog.

Her First Birthday Without Her

Six months later, July came — what would have been Stephanie’s 31st birthday.

I didn’t want to let the day pass quietly.

So I made reservations at Chili’s, one of our favorite spots.
I brought flowers, birthday cards, and a Happy Birthday streamer.
I invited my ex-wife and stepdaughters — all incredible people who had known and loved Stephanie when she was a child.

And since Stephanie wasn’t there to receive gifts, I brought gift bags for the others.
It was her birthday. Someone still deserved to feel joy.

The restaurant staff made an incredible card for her.
I recorded a video of the setup, which you can watch here:
🎥 Stephanie’s 31st Birthday Tribute – YouTube

A Digital Space for Her Memory

I also created a memorial website to honor her life.
A place for memories to live on.
Visit it here: 🌐 stephaniecookenour.com

Deafness changed how I move through the world.
Losing Stephanie changed who I am in it.

I don’t share this story for sympathy.
I share it because loss is isolating — and so is disability.
But the one thing they taught me?

Happiness must be made accessible.
Even in grief. Even in silence.
Even for those who are no longer here — and those of us still standing.

🎧 Listen to the voices behind the movement – Visit the Podcast

📺 See the message come to life – Watch on YouTube

Let’s make happiness accessible, for someone we'll see today.

#LetsMakeHappinessAccessible #StepDeaf