I do Quality Assurance. It takes me about 8 hours to go through a website with a fine-toothed comb. My job is to be very critical. It's fun! I feel like a super sleuth.
There are a lot of things that can be done to improve most websites. I've been thinking of two important items that are not always found on a site - or are not always easily found: a Home button and a Contact Us button.
I NEED a big, obvious Home button.
I need to know where my home is. I may not go home for a long period of time, but I need to know that I have a home and how to get there. What is it like for the people in Gaza or Iraq or New Orleans who no longer have a home or any of the material possessions that made their house a home? Do people who voluntarily give up their homes in order to travel and be free of ties feel at home no matter where they are? I don't think that I have that ability.
I need to know that I can communicate with someone.
I need to know that there is a way to communicate and someone that will hear me.
Oh, the frustration of not being able to be heard!
I used to volunteer at a hospice. In my previous life, before my thumb and shoulders fell apart, I had my own massage therapy practice, and each week I would spend a half a day giving massage to the people who were spending their last days at the hospice near my home.
One woman, who looked to be in her 50s, had been deaf all of her life. At the time I worked with her, she had cancer that had metastasized into her spine, causing her to lose control of her hands so that she could no longer communicate through signing. She had an alphabet board, but over the few weeks that I knew her, she lost the ability to control her hands enough to point to the necessary letters for communication.
As she traveled through the experiences of her illness, she couldn't hear and she couldn't communicate. No listening to words of comfort, no expressing fear, sadness, or pain.
I went to her room one day and indicated that I wanted to know if she wanted some massage. The woman was obviously very agitated and she was trying to tell me something. I tried and tried to understand what she wanted as her arms flailed all over the alphabet board, pointing to letters that didn't spell anything. I called in an aide that knew sign language, but she left shortly after realizing her attempts to communicate were unsuccessful.
Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, after I thought I'd guessed every possible thing that could be thought of, I gave up. I quit trying.
Then, something inside me led me to turn off the light. As soon as the lights went out, the woman relaxed and closed her eyes.
I think that I learned an important lesson in listening that day. There's more to communication than words.
(But websites still need Contact buttons.)
I'm so thankful for ears that hear, eyes that see, a voice that speaks, and for whatever is inside that (sometimes) hears the messages that come silently.
