Two or three variable high-pitched whistles, a low rumble or two.
Hearing damage is cumulative, and in the old days (1970s) hearing protection was less "normal" than it is now. All that framing lumber cut with the Skil saw, that trip in the old station wagon one hot afternoon with all the windows down and the wind roaring through, the sudden start of an impact wrench where I work -- it all adds up. I don't notice it until things go quiet around me.
There are other noises: mental noise, soul noise. Thoughts that come back. Lingering regrets. That time I was so embarrassed. When the rest of my world is quiet, they come back. Should-haves. Why-didn't-yous. If-onlys.
There is a kind of mental tinnitus, a chorus of caterwauling, shrieking zombie thoughts that won't stay buried.
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. ...
Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap ...
When up in my brain there arose such a clatter!
Forgiveness, yes. Forgiveness is out there, it is available. Healing, though, that takes longer. Scars, too, maybe they last. The freshness of the wound toughens up, the color and tenderness of the scar diminish. But they last, maybe until a new heaven and a new earth -- and a new body in a new life.
I don't notice it most of the time. Sometimes when my soul is very quiet, I hear it:
In dulci jubilo,
Nun singet und seid froh!
Unsers Herzens Wonne
Leit in praesepio;
Und leuchtet wie die Sonne
Matris in gremio.
Alpha es et O!