When Emily was two years old, she lived in a childrens care home. I came to photograph the kids. They assigned me to those hardest to place.
When I entered her group, I noticed a little girl with a sullen, contorted, almost elderly face. What an odd-looking child, I thought to myself. But then I started taking her picture. Thats when I truly saw her, through that still, dismal mask. She came alive.
Its not easy to catch the gaze of a deprived child, but this peculiar girl looked straight into the lens without looking away. Suddenly, I saw her soul. Utterly alone, cosmically isolated. Suffering. Not even a glimmer of hope, just the very first moment in her life when someone actually noticed her. Noticed her soulrejected, all-understanding. Just like my own. And then she turned her eyes away, and they filled with tears.
I asked the carer, Can you tell me a bit about Emily? I need to write a caption. Theres not much to say, really, the carer replied. What does she do? Can she speak? I pressed. She doesnt do anything. She doesnt speak. She just sits in the splits and rocks until she touches the floor, and when she rocks, she whines. Theres really nothing to say. Shes justnothing.
Only two months before that visit, our youngest daughter died.
Our beautiful life crashed into a brick wall at full speed and simply ceased to exist. We were left behind in the world After. We went about, speaking, eating, trying with everything we had to hide our despair from our other children, to keep them from being frightened. To give them a hope none of us truly felt anymore. I often thought, Will I ever find joy in anything again? I would drive to the shoots in tears, wipe my face with my scarf, and try to look like an ordinary, normal person when I stepped out of the car. I would speak in my usual voice and smile like it meant something. But it was all pretend.
I didnt want any child to replace the one wed lost. I only wanted to survive. And there was Emily, with her loneliness and her despair, somehow matching my own. As if I hadnt seen a thousand lonely children on this projectchildren just waiting. But this one was different; as if her solitude had found just the right key to unlock my own heart
At home, I said to my wonderful husband Sam, I dont know how to talk to you about this, or what this even is I photographed a little girl, and I really do understand, but I just cant stop thinking about her. Maybe we ought to consider her? And Sam replied, Are you aware youre not really yourself right now? What children? Were barely breathing.
Yes, yes, Im not myself. Maybe I never truly will be again. We have to learn to live with what is.
We visited the care home to see Emily. The carer brought her in. She was tiny, with the same twisted little face, shuffling awkwardly across the room. She had a bit of a cold, a smudge under her nose. My goodness, shes truly odd, I thought. She looked like a barely formed human being. What on earth had I seen in her?
Emily touched the toy wed brought, fell onto her bottom, splayed her legs, and started rocking back and forth quickly, bumping her forehead on the floor.
Meanwhile, the head nurse gave her assessment in the background: Mrs. Carter, this child isnt even mildly learning disabled. Its severe. Theres no prospect of improvement. Well be transferring her to social services. You understand? Shes profoundly delayed, unteachable. I respect you, and your husband, but this is social care material. Seven families have refused her already. She cant do or say anything suitable for her age. All she does is sit in the splits and rock back and forth. We call her our little ballerina
Thats when my husband, who Id not dared to look at until then, said quietly, You know, we like this little girl. Well take her.
Later, I asked him, Why did you say that? You didnt want to, did you? Sam answered, I realised she needed saving. And no one else was going to help her, except us.
We adopted Emily, leaving the care home rather befuddled.
Emily was in a deep depression. She didnt trust the world. The world had been dangerous and had betrayed her for those two years. No one had noticed her or loved her. She had no power over anything in her world. She didnt know how to ask for things. She didnt know how to play. She tore up and broke everything. She was afraid of everythingshe would freeze up, start rocking, and sometimes worked herself into such a state that she stopped breathing. She ate only mashed potatoes. She could barely walk; she feared water, the toilet, her dad, the lift, the wind, the car
Inside, my own grief howled. Outside, Emily howled. I understand now why they say not to adopt a child while youre grieving. You simply have no strength. All your energy goes just into not falling apart entirely. And a child like Emily requires so much strength. I had to scrape mine together from the tatters of our loss.
I told myself: How little your misery is, compared to the suffering of this poor child. You lost a daughter. You still have a son, a daughter, a husband, your mum, friends, your job, your home. Emily never had anything. Not a thing. Her pain is far worse.
And you know, that frail, sullen, shattered, endlessly whimpering, depressed creature we took home while barely functioning ourselvesshe turned out to be our wonderful daughter, Emmy. Its easy to tell a story in a few lines, but it takes much longer to live. Nine years have passed since then.
Emily then became who she was always meant to belight-hearted and joyful, cheeky, kind and endlessly obliging, gentle, sensitive, and often more forgiving with us than we deserved, a sweet, pretty girl. She attends a regular school, in a speech therapy class. She is learning scuba diving. Scuba diving!
She says, Mum, this time I managed to clear my mask and swap my regulator underwater At that moment, I cant help but cry.
Right now, Emily is at a diving camp in Cornwall. She flew there by plane. Shes eleven. She calls and chirps excitedly, Mum, its so beautiful here. Weve been swimming, even though there was a storm and the sea turned really cold! But its warming up, and our wetsuits arrived today, so tomorrow well go diving! We had fish for dinner, but we shared it with the catsthere are loads of cats here, Mum! You know I dont like fish! I had mashed potatoes instead. We hiked up a big hillthirteen kilometres! My legs nearly fell offbut its beautiful and there are trees here that are protected, in the Red List! Ive made some wonderful girl friends! I even bought some crackers with the money you gave me, and I shared them around. Now were swinging in the hammock I miss you!
Because we saved her. We saved her. And, together, we saved ourselves tooafloat, on this raft.
