When Lucy was two, she lived at the local children’s home. I arrived one winter morning to photograph the children. They sent me to the ones who were considered hardest to place.
I walked into her group and noticed a little girl with a sombre, twisted, almost ancient face. “What an odd-looking child,” I thought. But when I raised my camera and took her photograph, I truly saw her. Beneath that motionless, downcast mask, she seemed to come alive.
Its incredibly hard to capture the gaze of a deeply withdrawn child. But this peculiar girl stared right into the lens, unwavering. And suddenly, I saw her soula soul so utterly alone, so achingly lonely. Not even hope, just the very first instance in her life that someone noticed her. Noticed her soulabandoned, yet understanding everything. A soul so like my own. Then she looked away and her eyes filled with tears.
I asked the carer, “Tell me about Lucy, please. I need to write a few notes.” “Theres nothing to say really,” the carer replied. “What does she do? Does she speak?” “She cant do anything. She never speaks. She just sits in the splits and rocks till her forehead touches the floor. Moans when she rocks. Theres nothing to tell. Shes nobody.”
Just two months earlier, our youngest daughter had died. Our happy life had shattered against a stone wall and ceased to exist, while wewe went on, living some other life. Life *after*. We walked, we spoke, we ate, trying with every bit of effort to hide our despair from our children, to not frighten them. To give them hope, when we barely had any ourselves.
I thought, “Will anything ever bring me joy again?” Id drive to these photo sessions, tears streaming, then step out, rub my face with snow, compose myself, and walk in, pretending to be a normal person. I spoke in my usual voice, smiledbut it was just an act.
I didnt want a child to replace the one wed lost. I just wanted to survive, somehow. And then Lucy, with her loneliness and despair. As if I hadnt seen thousands of lonely children for this project, kids just waiting. But this particular loneliness seemed made just for me
At home I said to my wonderful husband, “Im not sure how to say this, and I dont even know what this means I photographed a girl today, and I just cant stop thinking about her Maybe, just maybe, we should think about her?” And Michael replied, “Do you realise youre not yourself? Children? Were struggling to breathe.”
“Yes, yes, I know Im not myself. But maybe I never will be again. I have to learn to live as I am now.”
So we went back to the children’s home. To see Lucy. The carer brought her in. Tiny, with that same twisted little face, shuffling awkwardly, her nose looking messy with a green bit of tissue stuck underneath. She looked, I thought, like some kind of failed embryo, poor child. What on earth did I see in her?
Lucy touched the toy wed brought, sat down with legs splayed, and began rocking, her forehead nearly hitting the floor.
Meanwhile, the head nurse began her speech: “Mrs Barnes, this child isnt simply mildly delayed; shes profoundly disabled. She has no prospects. Were moving her on to Social Services. You must understandshes not capable of being taught. Seven families have said no to her. She does nothing a child her age should do. Only sits in the splits and rocks. We call her our little gymnast”
Then my husband, whom I hadnt dared to glance at until now, said, “Actually, we like this girl. We want to take her home.”
I asked him later, “Why did you say that? You really didnt want to, did you?” Michael replied, “It became clear to meshe needed saving, and no one else would help except us.”
We adopted Lucy, leaving the children’s home looking thoroughly bewildered.
Lucy was in the depths of despair. She didnt trust the worlda world that for two years had ignored her, given her no love, no security. She had no ways of asking for help, didnt play, tore everything to pieces. She was terrified of everythingwater, the potty, Dad, the lift, the wind, the car. Shed break down into hysterics, sometimes till she couldnt breathe. She ate nothing but mashed food. Could barely walk. All shed ever known was fear.
Inside, my grief howled. Outside, Lucy howled. I understand now why experts advise not to adopt a child when you are bereavedyou simply have no strength left. All your energy is spent just trying to hold yourself together. And a child like Lucy needs so much strength. I found it in our sorrow.
Id say to myself, “My suffering is nothing compared to this poor childs. I lost a daughter, but I have a son, another daughter, a husband, a mum, friends, meaningful work, and a home. Lucy had nothing. Not ever. Not at all. Her pain is so much greater.”
And do you know what that feeble, gloomy, broken, endlessly whimpering, depressed little creature was, that Id taken home in a state of utter confusion? She turned out to be our wonderful daughter Lucy-Lou.
Stories are quickly told, but the realitywell, that takes much, much longer Nine years have passed since she came home.
Lucy has become exactly what she was always meant to be: light, cheerful, playful, kind, sweet-natured and ever-helpful, gentle, sensitive, beautifully forgiving when we mess upour lovely girl. Shes in a mainstream school with some extra speech support. Shes learning to scuba dive. Scuba dive!
She says, “Mum, this time I managed to breathe properly and swap my mouthpiece under water” Thats when I cry.
Right now, Lucy is away at a diving camp in Cornwall. She flew there by herself. Shes eleven. She calls each evening, chirping away, “Mum, its so beautiful here, we went swimmingthough there was a storm and the sea turned freezing cold! But its getting warmer; our wetsuits arrived, and tomorrow well dive! Dinner was fish, and we gave ours to the catsthere are so many cats, you know I dont like fish! But I ate mashed potatoes. We climbed a hillthirteen miles, my legs nearly fell off The trees here are protected species! I made friends with really lovely girls. I bought some crackers with the money you gave me, and shared them round. Were rocking in the hammock I miss you!”
Because we saved her. We saved her, and in a way, we saved ourselves. Together, on this little raft.
