My vision started to diminish forty years ago. That was the time that my desk drawer started to have an assortment of magnifying glasses and a monocular and my bookshelves had items with very large print. One of my prized possessions was a cookbook with very large print. I continued to receive the daily newspaper I was accustomed to read.  In time as I anxiously reached for every drop of sight, the newspaper ended up resting on my nose.
Eventually I accepted the fact that I was totally blind. The wonderful support I receive from the National Library of Services for the Blind and Physically Handicapped, a division of the Library of Congress in Washington DC, provides me with a wonderful selection of audio books. For my emotional wellbeing I can say unequivocally that
my life was saved.
My next phase of blindness puzzled me. I started to see large areas of pink, blue and eventually many colors. In my mind I would see people of all ages moving their facial features as if in animated conversation. Sometimes people would look almost like life-sized puppets. Was my mind becoming the theater that I once knew and loved as a devoted New York theatergoer?
At times, as I sat in a car being driven to various locations, I would see large apartment buildings with curtains blowing out the windows and children roller skating along the sidewalk. It soon became evident to me that these sights had to be figments of my imagination because never, but never, were apartment houses so located.
Now, as a robust 84-year-old woman, all colors have completely disappeared and so have my private theater going performances. The black I now experience is very total. I lie in bed at night, eyes open but totally enveloped in the blackest black. I don't want to turn on my reading machine, so as not to disturb my husband. I know I must do something in order not to drown in this total blackness. I quietly slip out of bed, hand wash a few small items of clothing and hang them on the shower curtain rod to dry. On other nights I enjoy opening my closet door to move the hanging clothes from one side to the other, as my fingers study the fabric, buttons, zippers, ornaments and beads, so that I may continue to dress in good taste.
I then return to bed and go to sleep. I'm happy knowing that the blackest black will not defeat me as long as I have a feeling of a sense of accomplishment, no matter how small.

Millie Rosenblatt was born in Bronx, N.Y. 1927. She graduated from Brooklyn College in 1948 with a BA in political science and worked for two years in Public Administration at New York University. After becoming blind, she received an MA in education from Pepperdine University in Malibu, California, with a 4.0 average. Millie taught at Ankara College in Turkey, US Department of Defense schools in England, the US Air Force, and for twenty-five years served as principal and administrator in religious schools in Texas, South Dakota and California. In 1970 Millie was presented a Special Award from the Pacific Southwest Council, Union of American Hebrew Congregations "For raising high the torch of Jewish learning in Santa Maria a community remote from the center of Jewish life". She has prepared a manuscript with 34 essays entitled "Top it Off With Sensitivity", aimed at helping people with handicaps and others.
The Rosenblatts can be emailed at paulmill@netvision.net.il