When Rosie was two, she lived in a childrens home. I had come to photograph the children, and they gave me the most difficult cases.
I walked into her group and saw a little girl with a sombre, uneven, almost elderly face. What an odd-looking child, I thought. But then I started taking pictures of her. And I saw herreally saw herbeyond that motionless, forlorn mask. Suddenly, she came alive.
Its a challenge to capture the gaze of a neglected child. Yet this strange little girl looked straight into my lens, unwaveringly.
And in that moment, I saw her soul. Lonelyso immensely lonely. Suffering. Not even hopejust the very first moment of her life when someone noticed her. Noticed her soulso rejected, so wise. One just like mine. Then she glanced away, her eyes brimming with tears.
I asked the carer, Can you tell me about Rosie? I need some background for the write-up.
Whats to tell? the carer replied. What can she do, what does she say? I asked.
She cant do anything. Doesnt say anything. Just sits in the splits and rocks till her head touches the floor. And when she rocks, she whines. Theres nothing to tell. Shes a nothing child.
Two months before I met Rosie, our youngest daughter had died.
Our wonderful life slammed headfirst into a brick wall and simply vanished. But we didnt. We kept going, living some other kind of life. Life AFTER. We walked, spoke, atestraining to hide our despair from the children so as not to terrify them. To give them hope, though we barely had any left ourselves. I remember thinking, Will anything ever make me happy again? Id weep on my way to photo shoots, then step out and wipe my face with a handful of cold air, trying to look like a normal person. I spoke in my usual voice, tried to smile. All act.
I never wanted another child to replace the one I lost. I simply wanted to survive, somehow. And then Rosie, with her loneliness and desperation. As if I hadnt seen a thousand childrens loneliness since starting this project, children waiting. As if this particular loneliness had found the key to my heart.
At home I said to my dear husband, I dont know how to bring this up, or what it is There was this girl I photographedI cant stop thinking about her. Maybe we should at least consider her?
Ben replied, Are you aware youre completely beside yourself? Were barely breathing.
Yes, yes, I know. But I dont think Ill ever be my old self again. I need to learn to live with it as it is.
We went to the childrens home to see Rosie. The carer brought her intiny, with that same uneven little face, barely toddling in sideways steps. She had a crusty stain beneath her nose. Oh, she was pitiful to behold, I thought. Hardly looked human. Just a failed flicker of life. What had I seen in her?
Rosie poked the toy wed brought, then plonked down, legs stretched in a split, and started rocking furiously until her head was almost on the floor.
Meanwhile, the head doctor recited, exasperated, LookMrs. Albright, this childs not even mildly learning disabled. Shes severely mentally impaired. There are no prospects. Well be sending her to Social Services, you understand? Seven families have turned her down already. She cant do anything for her age but sit in the splits and rock. We call her The Rocker
And then my husbandwhose reaction Id been dreadingsaid, You know, we actually quite like her. Well take her.
Later I asked, Why did you say that? You didnt even want to? Ben answered, I realised she needs saving. And no one else will do it. Only us.
We adopted Rosie, leaving the staff in silent bewilderment.
Rosie was sunk deep in depression. She didnt trust the world. To her, the world was treacherous, threatening, uncaring. Shed been invisible and unloved for two years, powerless to change anything. She didnt know how to ask for help, how to play. She tore and broke everything. She was frightened of everythingbroke down and rocked herself, vanishing into fits until she stopped breathing. She ate only mashed potatoes. She could barely walk, and was scared of water, the potty, her dad, the lift, the wind, the car
My grief howled inside me. Rosie howled outside. I now understand why they warn against adopting a child when you yourself are grieving. You simply have no strength. All your strength goes into holding yourself together. To take care of a child, you need so much. And you have to find it somewhere. I drew mine from our loss.
I kept telling myself, Your misery is nothing compared to the pain of this poor child. You lost a daughter. But you still have a son, a daughter, a husband, your mum, friends, a job you love, a home. Rosie never had anything. Its so much harder for her.
You know what this frail, gloomy, broken, endlessly whining and depressed creature turned out to be?
She turned out to be our lovely daughter, Rosie. Fairytales are quickly toldbut the real story unfolds slowly. Nine years have passed since she joined our family.
Rosie became who she was always meant to becheerful, playful, gentle and giving, tender and sensitive, unexpectedly forgiving of us. Shes a lovely, happy girl now. She goes to a mainstream school, in a speech therapy class. And shes taken up diving. Diving!
She says to me, Mum, this time I managed to breathe properly straight away and swap my mouthpiece under water At that point, I cant help crying.
Right now, Rosies away at a diving camp in Cornwall. She flew there by herself. Shes eleven. She rings me up, bubbling with excitement: Mum, its beautiful here! We went swimmingonly there was a storm and the sea got so cold! But itll get warmer, weve got our wetsuits now, and tomorrow were diving! We had fish for supper, but we fed it to the catsthere are loads, you know I dont like fish! But I ate mash. We hiked up a hillthirteen kilometres, my legs nearly dropped off. There are rare trees, some from the Red List! I made friends with some lovely girls! Oh, and I bought crackers with the money you gave me. I shared them out. Were swinging in a hammock Miss you, Mum!
We saved her. We really saved her. And in doing so, we saved ourselves. Together, riding the same little lifeboat.
