When Iris was two, she was living in a childrens home. I had come there to photograph the children, and they gave me the most difficult ones, the ones who were the hardest to find families for.
I walked into her group and spotted a little girl with a sour, pinched, almost ancient-looking face. What an odd-looking child, I thought to myself. Then I began photographing herand suddenly, I really saw her. Through that blank, gloomy mask, something flickered. She came alive.
Its hard to catch the gaze of a child deprived of affectionusually they look away, distracted, uncertain. But this strange little girl stared straight into the lens, unblinking.
And, in that moment, I could see her soul. Completely alone. Universally lonely and hurting. There was no hope in her eyesjust the very first moment in her life where someone was truly noticing her. Someone was looking past her odd little shell and truly seeing her. Someone who understood lonelinesssomeone just like me. Eventually, she looked away and her eyes filled with tears.
I turned to one of the carers. Can you tell me about Iris? I need to write about her. The carer replied, What is there to say? She doesnt do much. She cant really talk. She just sits, does the splits and rocks herself until she touches the floor. She whimpers as she rocks. Theres not much else worth saying. Shes well, shes nothing special.
Two months before meeting Iris, our youngest daughter had passed away.
Our once-perfect world had crashed, quite suddenly, into a brick wall and ceased to exist. And yet, somehow, we kept going, half alive, muddling through this new existencethe life after. We walked, we talked, we ate; we tried desperately to keep up appearances for our children, so they wouldnt see the despair inside us, so theyd have at least a scrap of hopesomething we ourselves could barely find. I often wondered if I would ever feel joy again. I would cry all the way to a shoot, then get out of the car, wipe my face with the cold winter air, put on a normal face, speak in a cheerful voice, and smilea performance, nothing more.
I didnt want another child to replace our loss. I just wanted to survive somehow. And in that headspace, there was Irisher loneliness, her quiet despair. As if, among all the thousands of stories of lonely children I had seen on this project, her story had chosen a key that fit my sad little heart exactly.
At home that evening, I turned to my lovely husband: I dont really know how to say this Theres this girl I photographed. I know it sounds mad, but I just cant stop thinking about her. Maybe we could you know consider her? He looked at me, exhausted, and replied, Are you even hearing yourself right now? Girls? Were barely managing to breathe.
I know, I know, I said, Im not myself. But I doubt I ever will be again. I suppose we just have to learn to live as we are now.
We went to see Iris at the childrens home. The carer brought her out. She was so tiny, still with that twisted little face. She hobbled out, tottering like a sideways crab with a green trail under her nose. Shes such an odd little thing, I thought. What on earth did I see in her?
Iris tried to touch the toy we brought, then plopped down, legs out to either side, and started rocking herself, quickly, forehead reaching the floor with each sway.
Meanwhile, the chief doctor stood there, saying, Look, Mrs Smith, this child doesnt even have mild learning difficulties. This is severe. Theres no future here. Were passing her on to Social Services. Shes been rejected by seven families. She does nothing but sit and rock in a split. Thats why we call her Little Olga after the gymnast. There was an awkward pause.
Just then, my husbandwho Id been afraid even to glance atspoke up, Actually, we really quite like her. Wed like to take her.
Afterwards, I asked, Why did you say that? You didnt want to He said, I realised, she needs saving. And no one else is going to do itonly us.
So we adopted Iris, leaving the childrens home staff bewildered.
Iris was in the depths of despair. She didnt trust the worldshe saw it as dangerous, cold, and always letting her down. For her entire two years of life, the world was a place she had no effect on. She didnt know how to ask for things, didnt know how to play. She broke everything, refused everything, became quickly frightened, and would spiral into hysterics until she stopped breathing. She ate only mashed potato. She could barely walk, terrified of bath time, the potty, her dad, the lift, the wind, our car
Inside me, my grief screamed, and outside, Iris screamed. I now understand why they advise against adopting a child when youre grieving. You simply have no strength. All your energy goes into holding yourself together, and a child needs more strength than you could ever imagine. But somehow, I mustered it from my sadness.
I would remind myself: How small my pain is, compared to this sad little girls. I had lost a daughter, yes, but I still had a son, a daughter, a loving husband, my mother, friends, a job I adored, a cosy home. Iris had never had any of that. Not once. She had it so much harder.
Would you believe who this fragile, grumpy, endlessly moaning, deeply unhappy little creature turned out to be?
She has grown into our wonderful daughterour Irisky. Its easy to tell this story now, but it took years. Nine years have passed since we brought her home.
Iris has become exactly who she was meant to bea light-hearted, joyful, cheeky, gentle, forgiving, sensitive, incredibly sweet and beautiful girl. She goes to a regular school, with some extra help for her speech. Shes even into diving. Yes, diving!
Shell tell me, Mum, on this dive I managed to clear my mask and swap my regulator under water And thats the bit where I always cry.
Right now, shes at a diving camp in Cornwall. She flew there all by herself. Shes eleven now. She calls me up, all excited: Mum, its gorgeous here! Weve been swimming, though there was a storm and the sea flipped and suddenly got freezing! But its getting warmer, our wetsuits arrived, tomorrow were going diving again! Dinner was fish, but we fed ours to the catsso many cats here, you know I hate fish! I ate mashed potatoes. We climbed up a hill, thirteen miles, my legs nearly fell off There are beautiful trees hereI made friends with lovely girls! I even bought some crackers with the pounds you gave me and shared them out. Were all swinging in the hammock I miss you!
Because in the end, we saved Iris. And she saved us. All together, on this little lifeboat of ours.
